


Salient Jayus

by MooseKababs



Series: Jayus [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien weddings, Allusions to Suicide, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Medical Procedures, References to Thundercracker/Bumblebee, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-01-26 05:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12550532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseKababs/pseuds/MooseKababs
Summary: Jayus (Indonesian): A joke that is told so poorly and is so unfunny that one cannot help but laugh.After helping Swerve out of an unfortunate situation, Starscream faces the consequences of his actions-- both the good and the bad.Takes place at the end of ex-RID and the first volume of Windblade, continues very vaguely into Combiner Wars.





	1. Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> If you chose to skip the first part of the Jayus series for whatever reason, all you need to know is that Starscream found Swerve in a dark place, and was compelled to offer him a hand.

It took Starscream a handful of moments to figure out what was wrong with the picture he crawled out of his berth to. Everything _seemed_ to be in order, except perhaps his light hangover, and even _that_ wasn’t even that unusual. Carefully meandering from his berthroom down the hall, he took stock; the few pictures he had hung up were in place and untouched, nobody had disturbed the security system or he’d have an alert on his HUD, there weren’t any standout marks on his floor… He shuffled into his kitchen and paused, face twisting in confusion. For a hangover of this degree he’d have to have drunk at least one, maybe two bottles of his usual brand of engex. Most of the time, on nights he drank, he left the bottles on the counter to be dealt with the next morning. To find _none_ was what stood out as strange, but it was not totally unheard of. He moved to the cool compartment and pulled himself a cube with little thought otherwise to the contents of the kitchen, turning and leaving after a moment.

Sweeping around the front of his couch, he caught sight of a pile of folded blankets and squinted at them, the memories lagging for a moment before he made the connection. For a split second his mouth hung open as he glanced uncomfortably at the balcony before he shook his head, paging through the security system logs. The door hadn’t been opened since the last time he’d done it. Casting a glance at the kitchen, and then at the back hall where the door to his office also read as locked and unbothered in the security logs, he couldn’t help but feel a little confused.

If Swerve wasn’t _here,_ and he hadn’t _stolen anything…_ then where was he?

Starscream checked the time and grumbled to himself. He wouldn’t feel satisfied that the grounder wasn’t lying in wait to kill him until he did a full sweep of the tower anyway-- at least the residential portion, and he was already late to work. He might as well do it now. Finishing his cube, he threw the container in the sink, unsubspaced a null ray, and set to work.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later when he was confident that there were no potential hiding places left unchecked that he inspected his reflection and made for the door, tapping his pede the whole lift ride down.  The doors jerked open, a symbol of their age as relics of the pre-war era, and he crossed the lobby in a few broad strides, only to be brought up short at the door by the sight that greeted him.

Instead of the usual trash and dirt, huddled in on himself on the curb across the street was his wayward minibot, chatting on his communicator dejectedly.

Pushing his way through the doors he made sure they closed silently, then crossed the street to stop a few feet away from the red-and-white, who rubbed at his optics under his visor tiredly and leaned back against the wall of the burnt out building behind him as he tried (and failed) to hold his own in what seemed to be a very one-sided argument. Either because he was distracted or tired, he didn't seem to notice Starscream's presence.

“No, you don’t-- I don't _have_ any credits. There's no way--?” The minibot let out a sigh, still rubbing at his optics rhythmically under his visor. “Okay. Yeah… sorry. Sorry. Thank-- I _said_ , sorry. Thank you for your time, sir. Bye.”

With another sigh, the blocky little mech hung up, pulled his servo away from his audial and hung it in his lap, scrolling through something on his communicator without looking. He still didn't cast the barest glance at Starscream, who let his crossed arms drop in absolute astonishment. He couldn't remember the last time he was in public, in someone’s company so long without getting called out, or at least glowered at. Paid attention to, something supplied for him; even _bad attention_ was still _attention_.

“ _Bill collector?”_ he asked the minibot quietly, resetting his vocalizer to clear the last dregs of sleep that still clung to it. The words made the the minibot’s helm snap up, visor clattering to the ground from his violent attempt at trying to yank his hand away from his face at the same time, and he cursed, reaching for what was assuredly a blue smudge on the sidewalk now.

“Starscream,” he greeted in a strange manner, like meeting the seeker outside the mouth of his home was completely unexpected and he never thought to see the ex-Decepticon here, “Uh. No. I mean-- no. No. Just. I was, uh, looking for an apartment but everybody wants a down-payment.”

Starscream waited a few moments, expecting more. He didn't see the issue of a down-payment-- Swerve said he owned a bar, why wouldn't he be able to afford rent?-- and then it struck him that no explanation was forthcoming.

“And?” he prodded, making a gesture for the other to continue explaining his predicament. Swerve gathered his visor up in his big red servos and frowned as he thumbed over the right lens gingerly.

“I don't have any credits.” He muttered quietly, taking the moment to slot his visor back into place so he wouldn't have to try making optic contact as he spoke, “My chits-- I packed everything up a couple days ago and left it on the ship. When The Lost Light left, it sort of… left with my stuff. Money included.”

Starscream shifted on his pedes, curling a servo across his mouth in distaste. He had that feeling that told him his next thought would be one made in a moment of weakness, and he should honestly put thought into what he was going to do next.

He didn't.

“Well then, up you get.” he said, holding out a rather ineffective servo to the minibot, who was much too low to the ground to grasp it. Swerve stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. “You can stay with me for a while. Until you find your pedes.”

The smile he offered the minibot was surprisingly sincere. It felt easy, to offer this simple thing. Starscream’s home had plenty of rooms, though in a semi-drunken haze the couch had been easier to prepare for the tiny, unconscious lump of a mech than a real berth. He could remedy that today. He _was_ already late to work. The grounder hesitated for a moment longer before reaching for Starscream’s servo slowly; The flier stooped sort of and connected their hands, hauling the minibot to his pedes, on which he swayed.

“That's... really nice,” Swerve said quietly, staring up at Starscream’s face with something the he could only call confused disbelief. “Thank you.”

“Contrary to popular belief,” The seeker drawled, gesturing for the other to cross the street once more and following him with long strides as he went, “I _can_ be nice.”

Starscream caught a glimpse of Swerve's face as they crossed the lobby together, and was surprised to see him gnawing on his lip uncertainly. As they drew to a stop and Starscream called the lift, he crossed his arms and continued to regard the warped reflection of the homeless minibot in the elevator doors. Twice, Swerve opened his mouth, looked at Starscream-- a move otherwise hidden by his ridiculous kibble-- but then shut his mouth and looked away. The tension was practically rolling off the minibot in waves, and as much as the situation _annoyed_ Starscream, he couldn't speak for the other mech. It wasn't until they'd both climbed into the stubborn old lift and commanded it to ascend that Swerve slapped on an uncertain half-smile and finally spoke.

“So, how did you find me?” He asked in a chipper tone that was so fake it almost made Starscream balk. “I mean I wasn't exactly hiding, but I didn't expect to see you there?”

“You didn't expect to see me outside my own home?” Starscream asked, bewildered. Swerve hesitated.

“Uh. No? Not exactly.” he offered gamely, expression faltering, “I mean, I just assumed you flew everywhere? Why would you walk around when you could get there so much faster flying, you know?”

“Seekers don't constantly fly, that's a stereotype. I like to stretch my legs as much as I like to stretch my wings.” He offered, watching as Swerve’s mouth opened and shut smartly. Before the conversation could continue, the doors opened and let them out into Starscream’s loft. The minibot took a moment to take in all the sights-- as if he’d never been there-- before turning and grinning at Starscream.

“Nice place!” he said, and Starscream smiled sort of uncertainly at the enthusiasm that comment contained.

“I like to think so,” he said, dipping his helm and motioning for the minibot to follow him down the hall. Swerve was hot on his heels as they passed a couple closed doors, stopping in front of one that looked no different than the others. Swerve’s EMF radiated barely suppressed excitement and anxious uncertainty in equal measures as Starscream opened the door to a barely- furnished berthroom.

An unclothed berth was pressed into one corner, a side-table next to it's head, and on the walls were two empty shelves. The room was bare and seemed dark even when Starscream dialed up the lights, which revealed everything was covered in a layer of dust. His wings canted downwards and he frowned. He'd been busy, yes, but surely not so busy as to let his home get this filthy?

“We can… clean it up,” he said slowly, turning to regard Swerve, prepared to console the other. He was instead surprised to find that Swerve’s enthusiasm hadn’t faded in the slightest, and he watched as the minibot stepped into the room to further investigate.  After a moment he turned back to the seeker and smiled something soft and genuine, and something in Starscream seemed to seize up at the expression.

“Don’t worry about it. This?” he said, the goofy grin threatening to spread back over his face, “This is great, Starstream. Thank you.”

Starscream stepped further into the room and smiled uncertainly as the minibot moved to sit on the berth despite the dust covering it, bouncing a bit on the springy padding most seekers preferred on their berths. Starscream shrugged, crossing his arms. “It’s not much, really.”

“Starscream,” Swerve began with a sort of chuckle, face angling downwards. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Just, _helping me._ Not acting like I’m some kind of … _burden.”_

That stopped Starscream up short, and he squinted uncertainly at the other for a moment before he half-turned towards the door and offered,  “I’ll go get the sheets for the berth.”

He felt Swerve’s optics on his back as he fled, turning around the door frame and making for the closet at the end of the hall. Swerve’s last comment had struck too close to home, and Starscream felt something completely different constrict within his spark at their similarities. He knew what the ground-pounder was feeling, alienated by those around him and boxed into an unfortunate frame of mind by everyone he’d ever met.  Convinced he wasn’t good enough. He took a moment to steady himself, flicking static charge off his wings and picking through the assortment of linens he had clean.  He couldn’t think of what to say to something so devastatingly personal. Something so _relatable._

He’d never been any good at cheering himself up.

Sheets in hand, he turned and made his way back down the hall to what was now Swerve’s room. The minibot had his back to the doorway, sweeping the dust on the berth together with the edge of his palm. He set the sheets on a clear spot and smiled down at the grounder. Together they spent the next fifteen minutes fighting to fit the sheets over the berthpad and arrange the rest of the bedding accordingly.  When they finished, Starscream sat down on the edge as Swerve heaved himself up, legs dangling, and they rested together a moment before Swerve spoke up again.

“Starscream?” he began softly, playing with his fingers in his lap, “I’m sorry for-- What I said down on the street? That’s not what I meant. I know you can be nice.” And then, almost as an afterthought, he added with a frown, “And sorry for the stereotype thing, too.”

“It’s alright,” Starscream offered awkwardly with a shrug, unused to getting apologies. “That’s hardly the worst thing anyone's ever said to me.”

“That doesn't make it right,” Swerve pressed, his tone gentle but insistent, and Starscream shifted at the sudden conviction in the minibot’s tone, wings canting downwards.

“Well, come on.” He said after a moment of silence, gathering himself to his pedes and turning from Swerve to the door, taking a few steps toward it before stopping and regarding the other over his shoulder. “I’ll show you a few things and then I have to get to the Citadel before Windblade pops a gasket.”

The minibot blinked at him for a moment before climbing off the berth and following him down the hall. Starscream pointed to each door as they passed, giving most a use though two others besides Swerve’s and his own were vacant berthrooms. He showed Swerve the washrack briefly before heading into the lounge, the minibot at his heels, to and showed him how to work the console and access the local listserv. The grounder watched Starscream intently, splitting his attention between watching where the seeker’s hands worked the holomonitor and his face in equal measures.  When he was relatively sure he'd covered everything, Starscream turned and regarded himself in the mirror by the door.

“Unfortunately, I have to go. Help yourself to anything in the cool compartment. I should be back around dusk.” He rattled off as he moved through the doors to the balcony, stepped up onto the high balustrade and lifted off into a seamless transformation. Swerve watched him go, suddenly alone.

“Bye,” he said quietly, his words seeming to echo in the empty penthouse.


	2. Intention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Road to Hell is Paved With Good Intentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright fair warning, as what is technically the third chapter of this story everything, in my opinion, takes a gradual downhill slide from here so, gird yourself. If you spot any errors be sure to point them out; this was originally written in second person but i didn't really like the way it read so i switched it to third. There might be some tenses bungled here and there.

Days had passed.

While Starscream was consistently busy building leading a city,  _ a world,  _ Swerve spent his days hunting down job offers. He started with the things he could do well, but medical and sciences alike had shrugged off his application as a metallurgist since they didn't really  _ need  _ one. He was assured he’d be called first thing if an opening appeared, and with a heavy spark he went back to his search.  Endless trekking across the environs of Metroplex had his tires aching and his struts sore, and each trip ended up being pointless. Things had wound down to him paging through every opening posted to the listserv, desperate for a break. His two options seemed to be factory work or construction, two things he had absolutely no experience with. 

He sighed and flopped back into his chair, letting it grow into groan at the futility of the act. He cast a disparaging glance at his communicator, tossed casually on the console dash the last time he’d hung up with a potential employer. After a moment he surrendered to his fate and snatched it up, but nearly dropped it when the lift doors creaked in anticipation of opening. 

“Starscream!” The minibot greeted, setting the communicator back into it's proper spot on his hip and rising to his pedes. It was later than he usually came home, and one glance at the seeker told Swerve why; he was completely overburdened with datapads. Another minibot, who Swerve assumed could only be Rattrap, followed him, carting his own armful. The newcomer slowed to a halt, casting a mistrustful optic towards the grounder upon catching sight of him.

“Whozzat, boss?” Rattrap asked, optics flicking from Swerve to Starscream and back again.

“Your  _ replacement.”  _ Starscream huffed sardonically, all but slamming his sundry datapads to the surface of the table near the kitchen and whirling on the shorter mech, motioning for the ones he held. “Mind your own business.”

“He ain’t even a prettier model!” The tawny mech protested petulantly, scoffing. Swerve shifted backwards, frowning, and in the same motion Starscream stepped forward, wings flared. Swerve’s vision snapped from the stranger to the seeker, who all but lunged for the other minibot. Rattrap wisely took a step back.

“You had best  _ watch  _ what leaves that exhaust manifold you call a mouth, Rattrap. I won’t suffer blowhards gladly.” He growled, snatching the stack of datapads from the smaller mech and turning to drop them on the table with the others, not bothering to turn back to him as he began to spread them out. “Now  _ go away!  _ I have  _ things  _ to do.”

Rattrap scoffed again, smirking to himself as he turned and began a casual meander back towards the lift. “I’ll bet ya got  _ somethin’ _ ta do.” he muttered, casting a glance over his shoulder at where Swerve was watching his hands and attempting to not make things any more awkward. As soon as he heard the comment, Starscream spun on a heel, wings hiking up once more.

“ _ Leave my home,  _ you  _ backwater reprobate,  _ before I call  _ pest control!” _ he shouted, plates raised in a subconscious show of aggression and stress. Rattrap’s meander turned into a quick retreat, and with a protesting creak of the doors he was gone. As soon as he was, Starscream’s wings fell, and he reached up to rub his optics before turning back to the table and his datapads. Wordlessly, he spread them out side by side and began to ingest the data each held, his optics roving from one to the next. Swerve was hesitant to interrupt, because he’d never seen Starscream at work, but he did honestly seem  _ busy--  _ at least  _ now.  _ From the looks of things, he had an assistant at work, too, even if that assistant was kind of rude.

It was Starscream’s turn not to really notice Swerve. He mouthed something to himself as he went back and forth between each screen, focused intently on what he was doing and not on his unlikely roommate. The minibot backed away slowly, instead entering the kitchenette. When he came back, he decided, he would have a peace offering. 

Starscream was pulled from his number-induced stupor by the sound of a glass being set down on the tabletop across from him. He finished keying in the value he was working on, then looked up under the ridge of his helm, trying to catch sight of what his guest was having and wondering if it was worth making something for himself.

There was, however, no minibot present when he looked.

Perplexed, he raised his helm and looked around, pinpointing Swerve’s location rather easily by the soft little shuffling noises coming from the kitchen. After a moment, the minibot emerged with a plate and set it down beside the fancy long-stemmed glass of engex he’d left before. 

“Snack time?” Starscream asked quietly, leaning on his hand. Swerve graced him with one of his genuine, easy little smiles and nodded. 

“For you,” the other opined, pushing both the drink and plate of energon dumplings a little closer, but not so close that it would interfere with any of the datapads.

“What?” The seeker asked, perking up and dropping his hand away from his face. His voice was a little louder in his surprise than he meant it to be. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” Swerve said with a tiny, nervous laugh, drumming his fingers on his thigh, “You seemed pretty busy when you came in so I figured you might like something to help the work go by a little faster. I hope you don’t mind I sorta raided your kitchen?”

Starscream blinked, sitting up fully from his mid-work stoop and shuffling datapads around so he’d have somewhere to set the plate of dumplings. Swerve handed them over, and then the drink, then snapped his optics to the closest datapad to try and discern its contents. Mostly so he didn’t have to see Starscream’s reactions. “As long as you didn’t leave a big mess for me to clean, I suppose everything is fine.”

“Oh, no, uh. I cleaned up the dishes while that cooked.” 

They lapse into silence. Something in Starscream warned him that this was how it started-- little favors, little requests by people he didn’t find all around too awful. That was how he ended up playing second fiddle to despots. That was how he ended up being used. Swerve was trying to play a long game, that little voice insisted, trying to take advantage of his proximity to power. Rattrap was doing it. What made  _ this  _ minibot so different?

He silenced the voice by taking a bite of one of the still-warm energon dumplings, immediately blinking in surprise. He had expected bar food. He had expected something second rate. These were good, though, and he was damn well half tempted to call them the best thing he’d eaten since he’d come to power. 

“Swerve,” he started, swallowing his shallow mouthful of the snack and gesturing with the second bite he’d yet to take. Swerve looked like he was waiting for his shuttle to crash, and Starscream’s wings flicked at the weak wave of anxiety the mech radiated. “These are amazing.”

The minibot looked up, astonished; he gaped openly at the compliment before he smiled again, uncertain but hopefully. Starscream, in turn, smiled back, finishing his dumpling and nodding reassurances to the other’s hesitant questions. 

They exchanged pleasant chatter as the seeker wiped out the plate of snacks and sipped his drink. The time was rife with compliments for Swerve’s work, under which the blocky little mech seemed to glow. Starscream confessed he didn’t really have access to specially cooked energon unless he made it himself; nobody exactly wanted him in their establishment, after all.

Starscream got back to work but kept himself open to conversation, which the chatty little grounder took advantage of. He was easy to talk to, funny, and eager to help-- which was how half the datapads wound up facing Swerve, who was masterfully comparing values and picking up slack. Taking the weight off Starscream’s weary shoulders. 

“Here you go,” Swerve said after they’d worked in companionable near-silence for only about a half hour longer. He spun a datapad and stretched up on his pedes to slide it across the table to the seeker. A value blinked on the display, highlighted. “There’s the number you were looking for. You can double check it if you want but I’m fairly confident in my sums.”

Starscream did check it-- not because he didn’t trust Swerve, but because he didn’t trust anyone. If he didn’t check it and something happened, the blame would fall to him. People could get hurt. Swerve’s data was correct, though, and the seeker leaned back in his chair, regarding the minibot levelly. They looked at one another quietly for a moment, the grounder fearing reproach and the seeker appraising the other mech.

“Keep  _ this _ up,” Starscream hummed finally from behind the rim of his glass, eyes flicking over its contents appreciatively for a moment before moving back to the other’s face, “And I may just keep  _ you,  _ Swerve.”

Swerve flustered, and it may have just been the engex but Starscream found it adorable. After a few long seconds of watching as the grounder scrambled to find the appropriate words to responds with, the seeker put him out of his misery with abrupt subject change. He could afford more chatter now that the hardest part of his work was done.

“How goes the job search?” Starscream asked, watching as Swerve seemed to deflate.

“Terrible.” Swerve said rather succinctly, scrubbing at his face. The joie de vivre was gone from him in all but a single moment, and Starscream straightened in his seat, alarmed.

“ _ That bad?” _ he asked, and he was surprised at how he sounded saying it. The minibot nodded pitifully, sinking forward to rest his elbows on the table and scrub his face with his palms. 

“I think I’ve called at least half the city and I’m down to two open listings on the listserv-- construction and factory work.” he explained, “Medical didn’t need me, sciences didn’t want me, anything I’m skilled enough to do doesn’t need my skill and anything that needs me I don’t have the skill for!”

“Wait, medical and sciences?” Starscream inquired, then motioned to his drink. “I thought you were a  _ bartender?”  _

“I was. I mean, I am! I’m a metallurgist too. I-- I was a metallurgist before I was a bartender.” He said, seeming to flounder,“I… love bartending, but... I figured metallurgy would be in more demand now…”

Starscream blinked, then cocked his helm. “Well, I think this drink rather proves the skill you have in your chosen occupation. Why not apply at Maccadam’s?”

“You don’t know it, but that is honestly a  _ terrible idea.”  _ Swerve stated emphatically, frowning as he pushed himself up on his hands from where he had sunk to lay across the table. “I would if I could.”

“Why can’t you?” Starscream pressed.

“ _ Blurr  _ owns Maccadam’s. We… he thinks I’m annoying.”

“ _ I  _ think  _ Rattrap  _ is annoying, but he still works for me.”

“You don’t understand,” Swerve insisted, looking haggard, “We had a… falling out. The entire war, I thought I was going to come back to Cybertron and start a bar with him. He wants nothing to do with me, he-- he never has. He gave me a fake comm signal. I kept it engraved on my hand for the first million and half years of the war when I memorized it an hour after I got home that day. The idea i was gonna get to have a bar with my hero was the only reason I made it  _ through  _ the war, honestly. Then I come back, and we save the universe three or four times, I  _ help,  _ and he still-- the only reason I’m not a complete  _ nobody  _ to him is because I’m  _ that annoying little red-and-white mini.” _

Starscream watched as Swerve ranted his way from sitting up to laying back down with his helm buried in his arms, shaking his own helm slowly.

“Wow, I thought Blurr was just a gear-slip to  _ me. _ ” He murmured, before leaning closer to the minibot across the table, “And you’re going to let that fragger keep you down, keep you from your dream job? You won’t even think about it?” Giving only the barest of thoughts to his actions, he tapped Swerve’s servo and batted his optical shutters at the minibot when he peeked up over his arms at the seeker. “ _ For me?” _

Swerve snorted, wiping at a stray tear he’d worked up and smiling a goofy wide grin at the other. “Is  _ that  _ how you get what you want from people?”

Starscream offered him his own small smile as he began to stack up datapads to take back to the Citadel tomorrow. “I can’t tell you,” he purred, “it’s a trade secret.”  
  


* * *

* * *

 

The next day, after Starscream was at work, Swerve found himself outside of Maccadam’s. He was across the alley from the bar, watching the early morning flicker of business come through the fogged up windows while dread coiled hot and foreboding in his gut. He was determined to start trying, determined to work up to asking for a job because something in him knew that Starscream was right. He couldn’t  _ not try  _ at the very least.

His first step was tentative, and he paused halfway to the door, balling his servos into fists. If he froze up in asking for a job he could buy a drink.  He had enough credits to cover that, he thought. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a quick succession of noises; A rumble, a shout, and then a deafening boom. The force of the blast he didn’t have time to see blew him off his pedes and sent him crashing to the ground, sliding away from the epicenter when he landed. Various things crunched and he could feel the sickly cold burn of a wound somewhere down his leg. He flickered his optics open and saw the blue of the morning sky blotched out by thick black smoke that shimmered with the metallic teal of burning energon, and his education told him in detail that part of what was burning at that moment was sentio metallico. It only took a moment before battle protocols kicked in; self diagnostics ran, and in the meantime he reached for the bits that hurt the most. His arm shook as he raised it and pressed his left servo to the opposite hip, because his right didn’t seem to be responding. A blip told him self diagnostics were in as he struggled to sit up and crawl off what was now categorized as a battlefield in his mind.

A quick perusal told him he wouldn’t be going very far until someone got him a new leg, and even with the one arm still attached he’d lost too much energon to drag himself away. He groaned, because he thought this was supposed to stop happening, but the sound was lost over the ringing in his audials. 

Moments passed before he felt hands on him and through the cracks in his visor he could make out the face of another mech, then two more as he struggled to pull in a vent and blinked groggily against warnings for emergency shutdown. He couldn’t parse them. He couldn’t really parse anything. The din of the scene was starting to pulse it’s way through to him as the darkness edged into his vision. He could hear one of the three mechs speaking to him firmly, but he couldn’t concentrate on the words. His attention is on a voice beyond that. 

“Windblade, what are you…?” The voice trailed off, all but drowned out by the commotion around them, and then louder, “Windblade?  **_Windblade!_ ** ”

The familiarity of the name puzzled Swerve as he began to shut down and the sensation of the strangers’ servos were lost to his failing systems. As he faded to unconsciousness, the connection was made; h is last thoughts were of Starscream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy thursday! thanks for reading :)


	3. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes are made as we enter the real meat and potatoes of this story.

Starscream left the room in a huff, Rattrap at his heels. He knew Windblade had something to do with this, he could  _ feel it _ . He had tried threatening her, hoping she would capitulate. The colony world, Caminus, was spared from the violence of the war, and Starscream had dared to hope that for once something would go his way and she would be intimidated into talking. 

Needless to say, she wasn't.

He ached from the intensity of the day's work. The explosion was the last thing he needed added to his immediate workload, and his helm throbbed from the stress the situation had brought with it. The ride to the lobby with Rattrap was blessedly silent. He took a moment to skim the list of hospitalized victims casually as they left the lift, pausing halfway across the lobby to stare at the data. He struggled to take his optics off Swerve’s name where it had been entered at the bottom of the list, lacking even his city of make. Simply the word  _ Swerve _ , so innocuous that Starscream had to check the edit history on the data to make sure he hadn't put it there himself.

He swallowed around his dread when he confirmed that Swerve was there, in the medical building, and he shoved the victim list into his subspace quickly, turning to Rattrap with an authoritative air he didn't feel. 

“Rattrap. I have more business to attend to here. Go back to the Citadel and make sure the responding guard members have been debriefed, go over similar emergency protocol with the guard corps, and get the witness reports on my desk and ready for me when I get back.”

Rattrap opened his mouth to protest, but with an impatient look from the seeker he closed it and trudged off to follow orders, leaving Starscream alone to seek his roommate. Alone in a busy lobby, Starscream made a bee-line for the same desk he'd gone to to find Windblade’s room. The same clerk was there doing data input, and Starscream reset his vocalizer to get the mech’s attention.

“Starscream,” the clerk, a little peach and black two-wheeler with the misfortune of massing his wheel kibble over his aft, greeted him in a flat voice. “ What can I do for  _ Your Majesty  _ now? I thought you already interrogated your daily patient quota.”

“Very funny.” Starscream bit back, talons clicking on the counter. It was a clean enough surface, for being recycled. “I’m looking for a patient-- another victim of the bombing. His name is Swerve.”

The clerk provided a floor and a room number, and Starscream did his best to keep the resentment out of his voice when he offered his thanks. He was sincerely thankful for the clerk's help; the stress was just weighing on him too greatly to make it known at the moment. He turned on his heel and made for the elevator, heading for holding room iota six. The ride there was silent, tense, and lonely, Starscream’s wings angled high on his back in agitation. Nobody had been called when Swerve got hurt. He had been there, alone, since the explosion. It struck Starscream as particularly wrong.

When he got to the door to the room which held Swerve, he hesitated. Everyone blamed him for the bombing; if not for causing it then for allowing it to happen under his rule. He didn't want to see Swerve forcing that blame onto him, didn't want that little voice in his helm to be proved right-- But if Swerve had nobody, the least Starscream could do was check on him. 

He entered to see more damage than he was expecting; Swerve was missing half a leg and an arm, and most of the plating from his right side. His visor was missing, and his right optic was patched over with a thick metal medical patch that tended to leave scars. He had scrapes and dings all over what remained of his right side, resting propped up somewhere between his front and his left side, taking the pressure off what Starscream assumed were more wounds he just couldn’t see.  He faced the door, his berth horizontal and rotated so he’d be able to address any visitors, but he didn’t react to the sound of the seeker’s entrance.

Starscream was startled to realize that Swerve was recharging with his optics on.

He waved a hand in front of the minibot’s face to double-check and when he received no reaction, he straightened. He took the time to check Swerve’s medical chart, assuring himself that the grounder was no longer critical-- though he wasn’t sure when it started mattering to him. He flickered his optics over the shorter mech’s frame, reaching out after a moment to touch the space just under the medical patch on his scuffed white faceplates. His plating was hot and feverish with his frame’s effort to internalize the new repairs, and Starscream could feel him twitch in repose beneath his digits.

“Swerve,” He said softly, smoothing his hand down to an undamaged portion of white backplates, “Swerve, can you wake up?”

There was a groan, and the smaller mech shifted, twisting his shoulders as if he was trying to roll over. It failed, and he settled back into stillness for a moment. Something seemed to click into place, and with a particularly deep invent and a cough, his optic flickered off, then back on. It struggled to focus without the correction of his visor, but finally came to rest on Starscream’s features, flickering back and forth over his face.

Starscream didn’t realize the concern he was showing until Swerve had already seen it.

“Hey,” the minibot mumbled, still groggy, “You found me.”

“I did.” the seeker said slowly, turning to pull a chair closer to the medical berth. He didn’t have to pull it far, because honestly they’d all but shoved Swerve into a closet. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Cold. Hungry.” Swerve admitted rather quickly, and Starscream shifted in his chair a little uncomfortably. His short friend had never been so brutally honest with his needs before; it was off putting to say the least.

“Hungry?” Starscream echoed idly, and Swerve managed a weak nod, wincing when it tugged at the energon transfusion lines in his neck.

“I didn't eat anything this morning. I was too nervous.” the minibot explained, optic dimming briefly before he blinked a few times. “Payin’ for it now.”

“Nervous?” Starscream echoed again as he watched Swerve fight off sleep, a sense of guilt growing in him. 

“I was goin’ 'a ask Blurr for a job. I thought 'bout what you said an’-- and you were right. I can't not try, at least. I think,” He yawned, sighed, then started again; “I think this is a sign though.”

“Swerve…” Starscream tried to placate, but the words didn't come. The minibot's name hung in the air between them for a few long moments before Starscream rose, half turning toward the door. “I’ll go find out about something for you to eat, and a blanket for you. Try to get some rest.”

“Will you come back?”

The quiet question caught him off guard, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat that announced itself once more. 

“Do you want me to?” Starscream asked weakly, cursing the sound of his own voice. 

“If you could find the time.” Swerve half-answered. For a brief moment their optics met, and that annoying part of Starscream urged him to snap that the minibot’s answer wasn't a very good one. Instead his jaw hung open uselessly before he snapped it shut, wings raising high on his back as he straightened his posture.

“Then I’ll be here.” Starscream assured, managing not to stammer, and he found the power in himself to walk out the door before he could fall prey to any more bad ideas.

* * *

* * *

* * *

  
Starscream walked back into the lobby of the medical facility a half-hour later with a neatly stacked armful of things-- a few entertainment datapads, two blankets, and a menagerie of packaged energon products. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but on short notice it was better and more filling than nothing. He was two or three strides from the elevator when someone’s voice rose over all the others. 

“ _Starscream?!”_ The incredulous cry came, and he froze in place as if caught in the middle of some despicable act. Chromia looked livid as she marched up to him. Nearly his height, she glared at him expectantly. “What are you _doing_ here? You did your little _wellness check_ with Windblade almost an hour ago. I would have expected you to be off doing whatever it is you think passes as ruling by now.” Glancing down, she screwed up her face and grabbed one of the energon cakes off the pile in his arms. He stiffened, opening his mouth to protest, but she continued, heedless. “And what’s _this?_ Are you stealing from the hospital now or something?!”

Rage boiled in Starscream’s spark, and his wings hitched high on his back in something that, to seekers, was threatening. He took a step closer to her, then another, forcing her to step backwards. 

“ _ I’ll have you know,” _ he hissed, shifting the messy pile of things in his arms so that he could snatch the goodie back and return it to his safe embrace, “I am  _ here  _ to see my  _ Conjunx Endura!” _

It came out louder than he wanted. The room froze, and all at once, it seemed, everyone turned to stare at him. The sheer stupidity of his remark suddenly hit him, and he blinked, but quickly manifested the same outrage as before. 

“That’s right! I, _Starscream of Vos,_ am here to see my pre-bond.” he said, staring down each member of the crowd. Among them was Circuit, and at his shoulder Longtooth, both of which watched him silently. The red light of his optic indicated that indeed, the cameramech had recorded the whole declaration. “Now, _if_ _you will excuse me.”_

Without another word, he turned on his heel, and fled, leaving a gaping Chromia in his wake. 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Swerve stirred when Starscream set the first blanket over him. His optic flickered online and immediately traced up the increasingly familiar contours of the other’s form, landing on his face; he smiled weakly up at him.

“Starscream.” He said, and it was almost as if he was happy to see the seeker. Starscream swallowed thickly, because his inability to think before he spoke had probably threatened what little familiarity he had with the minibot.    


“Swerve. Are you okay?” He asked quietly, voice a soft hum, for once something pleasing to the audials.

Swerve made a noise in the affirmative; “You brought me blankets?”

“And some… slag to eat. I figure until they feed you here there’s probably something here to hold you over. It’s not very healthy, but it will do.”

“That’s so nice. Thank you, Starscream.”

The seeker had to take a moment to collect himself, scrubbing a hand over his faceplate weakly. He was so unused to being appreciated that it hit him like a suckerpunch every time Swerve thanked him, because either he meant it or he was a  _ stunning  _ actor. He sat down heavily in his chair and helped Swerve eat a pack of soft energon cookies he had liberated from a vending machine in the cafeteria.    


Silence stretched between them, comfortable, as the grounder dozed peacefully, warmed from the chill of the IV by the blankets Starscream had brought him. After a long moment, Starscream pulled Swerve from his drowse again. 

“I may have… made a mistake, Swerve.” He started, shifting uncomfortably. The minibot watched quietly, waiting for the other to continue. With no small amount of embarrassment, Starscream relayed his encounter with Chromia and his subsequent excuse, bracing himself for Swerve to belittle him. “I might need you to act as though we’re… involved. Romantically.”

“Okay.” Came the sedate reply instead, “Least I can do. I just hope I don’t make things any harder for you.”

“Just-- Just like that?” Starscream asked, bewildered.

“I mean,  _ ‘act goo goo over a beautiful seeker’?  _ Ask me something hard, Starscream.” He joked, laughing lightly. It descended into a fit of coughing after a moment, and ended with a contrite expression. “Maybe that joke was weird in retrospect. I’m drugged, give me a break.”

The tension that had been suffusing Starscream ebbed in that moment, because Swerve’s easy manner made him feel like everything would really work out alright. He offered the minibot a small smile, moving to adjust the blanket where his jarring coughs had bunched it over his frame. 

“We’ll have to talk about this more later, then, but for now, you should get more rest. I have to go back to work. Do you need anything else?” Starscream asked, moving his chair back to it’s place against the wall. When he looked back, Swerve attempted to bat his optical shutters coquettishly like Starscream had yesterday, though in his drowsy state it was sort of slow and uncoordinated, and shot Starscream a coy smile.

“A kiss?” He said, tucking his chin carefully and looking as innocent as possible. Starscream looked at him intensely for a moment, looming, face contorted in an expression of befuddlement, before he began to lean in, eliciting weak yowling laughter and cries for him to stop from the minibot.

“A joke, a  _ joke,  _ I was  _ joking!”  _ he cried, and Starscream smirked at him cockily. 

“I see. Be careful what you wish for, little mech. It may just come true.”

Their gazes locked, and for a moment it was almost as if something serious passed between them. Then Swerve broke into his wibbly half-smile. 

“I wish,” he stage whispered, “that Starscream would kiss my aft.”

Starscream blinked once. Twice. Three times. A smirk settled on his face again and he leaned in over the tinier mech, who took up howling once more.

“It was a  _ joke!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If i haven't scared you off with those new tags, hold on for the ride because it literally only goes downward from here.
> 
> EDIT: PLEASE LOOK AT THIS WONDERFUL [ART](https://twitter.com/starscrearn/status/964545805360222209) BY starscrearn LKGDFDXFGHJDLFG


	4. Official

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swerve continues to heal, and a deal is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday!!! This is one of the chapters I'm not entirely happy about, so gird your loins before going into this battle if you catch my drift.

Although things became busy almost immediately, Starscream’s thoughts continued to move back to Swerve and his suffocating hospital room. The fight with Chromia and Windblade over Metroplex, the jailbreak, his convincing Wheeljack to work on Superion-- all of those things had stolen his time, but not his  _ thoughts  _ away from the minibot. He snuck in as many visits as he could, displeased to find that he had to station guards outside the grounder’s room to fend off visits from the tiny contingent of mechs that spread the gossip that passed as  _ news  _ around New Iacon. The paparazzi hadn’t been pleased by the restriction, but Swerve reported feeling much better without the threat of interrogation hanging over his helm.

Two days before Prime was supposed to show up for his visit, in between meetings with Windblade to discuss allocation of resources and the affairs within Metroplex and to finalize the plans for contacting the colonies, and then with Wheeljack to confirm the status of the space bridge, of Superion and a few other things, Starscream  _ made  _ time to visit Swerve. He had finally had the surgeries needed to do most of his major repairs, and Starscream couldn’t decide if he looked better or worse for it. The patches were gone, and he was off of most of the IVs, but the minibot was curled on one side looking  pitiful when the seeker entered. His right thigh was splotchy where a weld line had been ground down flush, all the protective nanite coating missing and struggling to recover. His arm was the same dull metal color as his new replacement leg, and Starscream wondered idly how much of his frame Swerve had lost throughout the war. Parts of the tinier mech’s side were criss-crossed in weld lines where new, thick plating had replaced what was blown away, the gauge just a bit thicker than what had been there before, and as Starscream’s eyes wandered up to Swerve’s face, scrunched up in his sleep, he set his hand softly on the smooth, soft metal. It still needed to be coated with nanites, but that was considered something superficial. As the new optic installed where a large obtrusive patch used to be flickered on at first  _ too bright _ , then a little too dim, not quite right for the minibot, Starscream made a mental note to find time to get Swerve painted.

“Starscream,” the bartender greeted in that same voice, like the seeker being there was the greatest of surprises, a wonderful gift; “You’re here.”

As it always did lately, Starscream’s throat closed up around the words he wanted to say. He pushed them out-- pushed  _ something  _ out. “I am.”

“You look tired,” Swerve opined gently, likely not aware of how hypocritical it sounded as he reached a hand up to set over Starscream’s. Starscream wondered at him, wondered if he was acting or if this affection was somehow real. “Long day?”

“Long  _ week,”  _ he corrected, shaking his head and pulling his stool over with a pede. For a while, they spoke. Swerve’s dose of painkiller, delivered automatically on a timer through his final IV, made him drowsy enough that true discussion was all but impossible. Starscream could leave, but even when he couldn’t do much for the grounder,  _ with  _ him-- he felt reluctant to pull away. 

An hour later, as the sun set, Swerve succumbed to the pull of sleep, and Starscream left a new set of guards to watch over his make-believe endura.

* * *

To say that their first first contact with Caminus had gone badly would have been putting it nicely. Optimus Prime had spoken over him, commandeered the whole meeting with the Mistress of the Flame and made him look like some two-bit figurehead. The humiliation had almost been enough to make him regret deciding against his plan of using the Enigma of Combination. He was sure the other mech was begrudging him the outcome of the  _ murder situation  _ in the ghettos, as well.

Thankfully, he had seen through Prowl’s horribly telegraphed attempt to disrupt  _ progress _ , and had casually separated him from the constructicons early in the game. They had managed to get through things without a  _ catastrophe,  _ which it easily could have become judging by the close proximity of not one, but  _ two  _ combiners, but it had hardly gone well. At least when the Decepticons had come through the space bridge with the first loads of goodwill supplies Windblade had  _ oh so generously  _ suggested to him, they were very receptive to the faction. The whole ordeal had left him frustrated beyond words. 

Starscream made for his home as soon as they returned to Cybertron, his arms crossed, Rattrap trailing behind him hopelessly as he went. He strode across the lobby of his tower and into the lift, smacking the button before the minibot could enter with him.

“Boss--” The mech protested as the doors began to squeal shut, looking for all the world like he was going to dive into the lift with the seeker.

“I’m going to  _ bed,”  _ Starscream bit out as the nasty little mech disappeared behind the shutters.  He let out a sigh and rubbed his neck, and after a moment, focused on shutting out the other unwanted minibot that seemed to be following him around. This one was yellow and a lot less alive than the other he had left behind.

_ Bumblebee.  _

He didn’t know if it was supposed to be his subconscious or just another hallucination like the whispers that had seduced him into the worst of his self-sabotage over the years-- but the mech was there, telling him in no uncertain terms what he was doing wrong, what he could be doing  _ better _ .  The difference between  _ Bumblebee  _ and the other voices, though, was that the apparition didn’t hesitate to tell him when he had made the right choice, either, and wasn’t ever-present, commenting on every single thing the seeker did.

As the lift rose, Starscream cast a glance to the open space beside him as if he expected the minibot to be there. Lately, the actual appearance of anything more than a far-off echo of his voice was rare. Of course, besides himself, the lift was empty. Starscream shook his head and scowled.

“Goody two-shoes autobot. I wonder what he would say if he knew about Swerve.” Starscream mumbled, letting his thoughts stray once more to what he considered to be a more important minibot at the moment.

He stepped out of the lift grumbling to himself about how he definitely was  _ not _ using Swerve, how there was no way he was holding anything above the minibot’s helm--and that’s when he heard the pedes shuffling behind him clearly for the first time. Immediately he unsubspaced a null ray and took aim silently in a rush of mechadrenaline, battle protocols reacting before  _ he _ could. He was shocked to find the intruder to be a tired looking Swerve, who now stood with his hands up and his optics locked unsteadily on Starscream’s weapon.

“Swerve,” The seeker said astutely, letting his null ray power down, “What--”

“I’m sorry,” Swerve cut in, letting his arms lower so that he could work his fingers together into knots, back and forth, over and over, “I was in the kitchen, a-and you were talking, and I figured you either had  _ guests  _ or you were on a comm so I didn’t want to make too much noise, so I was going to my room--” He ran his dentae over his lip, “Now you’ve lost your call, because of me…”

For how exhausted he looked, Swerve could speak astoundingly quickly. Probably from the nerves, Starscream guessed; It wasn’t the best feeling to have a gun pointed at you right after you left the hospital for bomb wounds.

“We were done talking about the important things, anyway.” Starscream assured him, “I can call them back later. Come sit down.” 

They both shuffled over to the soft couch that Swerve had slept on the first night he’d stayed there. Swerve began to pull his legs up but thought better of it suddenly, keeping his pedes on the floor, and Starscream watched him with interest. They shared a moment of comfortable silence together as Starscream did his best to arrange his wings on a piece of furniture truly not designed for winged individuals.

“How are you feeling?” the Seeker finally asked, breaking the silence after a long moment of watching Swerve flounder in his scrutiny, “How long have you been out of the Medical Center?”

“Uh, just since this morning,” the minibot said with a wobbly smile, trying for all the world to be his  _ normal  _ self, his  _ persona.  _ Starscream frowned a little. “I feel okay. Sore, but okay. I have some medication they want me to take.”

“And what were you doing in the kitchen, cleaning?” Starscream asked, almost like he was confused by the idea.

“No, I was setting up dinner. Something that I could leave cooking but that would be nice for us. I was watching the news-- you seemed really busy all day.”

“I am. I  _ was.”  _ Starscream said, quietly, “But really, Swerve, dinner is your first thought when you come home?”

“I wanted you to have a good meal tonight!” Swerve protested gamely, and then, quieter but just as passionately, “You deserve it.”

Starscream had to  _ pause.  _ He leaned back from Swerve and covered his optics with his hand, rubbing them and then sliding his hand down his face, because-- when was the last time anyone had said that to him? That he deserved something good, something nice? It was another of those sucker punch moments Swerve was getting so good at creating. 

“ _ Swerve, _ ” he tried to sound admonishing, tried to sound anything but the way he felt right now. “You should be resting, not cooking-- as much as I appreciate it.”

Swerve sort of settled back against the cushions and chewed on his lip like he was thinking about arguing. Finally, He inclined his helm a little and sighed, giving the seeker a reluctant half-smile. 

“At least don’t make me go to bed?” He pleaded, “I’m  _ sick  _ of laying down.”

Starscream smiled back at him, glad to come to a compromise. He helped Swerve arrange pillows under himself and behind him, so he sat on the couch with his side stretched out and his leg propped up, half way between sitting and laying down. When he was settled, Starscream left to take care of paperwork and making some  _ actual  _ calls, leaving the minibot to the mercies of the vid-screen.

* * *

Starscream was pulled from his work hours later by a curse and a loud crashing noise. Immediately he was on his pedes heading towards the source of the sound,  null ray powering up with a dull hum.

“Swerve?” He called, pressing his back to the wall of the corridor just around the curve of the hall, out of sight of anyone that might have been in the lounge. He heard a whine, and it was almost enough to get him to come around the corner into the larger space, but then he heard the unmistakable clatter of  _ cooking  _ and almost sighed.

“Swerve, is that you?” He tried again, this time a little louder.

“U-uh,” came the initial reply from the kitchen as Starscream finally stepped around corner, dismissing his battle protocols for the second time that day as he spotted the pillows he had bunched up behind the minibot now scattered on the floor around the couch. “Yeah, I um…”

He stepped toward the tiny cooking space Swerve limped around in, working feverishly on a hot pan, where the edges of the food -- some kind of casserole, making starscream think that the minibot had gone shopping because he definitely had not had any sort of  _ pasta  _ in his pantry last time he checked-- are burned to a crisp. The grounder fluttered around it worriedly, as if he could somehow  _ unburn it  _ if he tried hard enough.

“Are you okay?” Starscream asked slowly, eying a suspicious series of paint transfers decorating the floor just inside the doorway, all of them Swerve’s colors. He leaned against the door jamb, crossing his arms over his cockpit as the minibot pulled up the edge of the casserole gently with a spatula then sighed, tossing the implement aside and looking at him with a frown.

“Oh, you-- you heard that?” Swerve said, cradling his wrist gingerly. The seeker inclined his helm toward the streaking of color just a few hand-spans in front of him, and Swerve’s frown seemed to deepen as his optics struggled to focus on the marks without his visor. “Huh. Yeah, that’s probably a giveaway.”

“Are you  _ okay? _ ” Starscream asked again, gesturing to where the minibot worked the cables in his newly replaced wrist. The bartender offered him a smile, one of the ones that the seeker had started categorizing as fake.

“Fine!” he offered, voice cheery, as he turned back to the food, looking more determined than before. “Just, not used to this arm is all. The doctor said it would take a while to feel right.”

Starscream nodded after a long moment, turning and leaving Swerve to do whatever it was he planned to do to his casserole. He busied himself with picking the pillows back up from where they’d fallen off the couch, putting them to rights as he listened to the minibot move around and mutter to himself in something almost subvocal if not for the volume.

The grounder managed to salvage the food, miraculously, and he soon emerged from the kitchen laden with plates much to Starscream’s further frustration. The seeker immediately relieved the smaller mech of his burden, setting both plates on the table in their appropriate places, but when he glanced back Swerve had circled back to the kitchen again. Anticipating him coming out with more than he could handle again, Starscream followed silently and quickly confiscated the drinks the minibot made to shuffle out with, taking both into one hand and guiding him out to the table with the other firmly set on his cowl. 

The grounder gave him a nervous, apologetic look as Starscream confirmed there was nothing else he needed to get from the kitchen, set the drinks in their appropriate places, then set himself in his own chair across from the minibot. They ate a surprisingly tasty meal together, accompanied by idle amiable conversation. Starscream gathered the dishes afterward before Swerve could jump to do it, and after a moment of looking at the odd patchwork of sanded down weld lines now marring the white mech’s paint, he instructed his shorter companion to wait over by the couch while he took care of the handful of dishes.

Swerve stared after him when Starscream disappeared around the corner of the hall, returning a few minutes later with something tucked under his arm, stepping around where the minibot was still  _ standing  _ to set down a handful of paint canisters on the coffee table. Freeing the paint-splotched tarp he had brought from under his arm, he set to tucking it around the couch cushions, then ushered the minibot the minibot to sit down and become some semblance of comfortable.

“I can’t have my consort walking around looking like I don’t take care of him,” Starscream explained as he shook up a can of primer. The minibot watched him quietly, with a growing sense of unease knotting in his gut that was apparent and familiar to Starscream, something the seeker had felt himself a thousand times. He didn’t understand that someone would simply do something nice for him, and for some reason that struck Starscream as wrong. For all of the feelings he had been getting lately, especially concerning Swerve, he liked to blame them on how much of himself he saw in tiny, sad little grounder.

Starscream pulled the corner of the coffee table closer to himself when he was sure the primer was mixed well enough, and settled himself on the couch with Swerve’s right leg across his lap over the tarp. It was a little awkward, but as he loaded the can of primer into his airbrush, he decided it was a small price to pay to get the bartender looking like himself again.

“So,” Starscream began over the quiet hum of compressed air, testing for an even spread through the brush on the corner of the tarp casually, “I believe now would be a good time to discuss the terms of our arrangement?”

“Uh,” The minibot stammered, sitting up a little straighter, his optics flickering brighter in a clear indication that he was paying more attention even if he was having trouble focusing without a corrective visor. His fingers played over a frayed edge of the tarpaulin in a subconscious, nervous gesture. “Yeah. We should-- I don’t wanna say something dumb and mess up.”

“You’ve done wonderfully so far,” Starscream commended gently,  _ honestly.  _ He murmured a quiet warning about the temperature of the spray before he began to apply it. “I just think it would be a good idea to touch base on some things in case you, specifically, are named as my pre-bond.”

“Like what?” Swerve asked, not so much as flinching as the seeker applied a long stripe up his shin, slow and steady, then came back down right next to it the opposite direction. “I was thinking we maybe need to talk about, like, backstory. In case somebody asks? So we don’t give two different answers.”

“An excellent place to start.” The seeker agreed, the pausing for only a moment at the end of his stripe to adjust the flow rate on the airbrush. “Did you have something in mind?”

The minibot hesitated for a moment, settling back against the tarp and shaking his helm, and for a moment they sat in silence as the seeker continued his ministrations with steady servos.

“Well,” He finally provided, gently turning Swerve’s ankle in his servo in order to get better access to the unblemished metal of the replacement limb, “We can think on it while we work on everything else we need to know to be on the same page.”

The minibot agreed quietly, and between the two they worked out every sort of question they could think of to ask someone about a relationship, and then came up with a convincing story to fill in the blanks. By the time Swerve’s leg and arm were both primed they had been in a substantial relationship for nearly the whole time the Lost Light had been parked for Megatron’s trial, bonding over talk of armor polish and engex and expanding from there. Starscream cleared his vocalizer as he switched canisters to one of Swerve’s shade of red he’d mixed, ready to start layering the nanite rich paint onto the replacement limb. 

“I think now, we should talk about boundaries.” The seeker reasoned, glancing up at the minibot, “Eventually, someone is going to figure out it’s  _ you  _ I’m referring to as my Conjunx, and then there will be things required of you. Galas, parties, appearances, nothing  _ too  _ taxing, but we would of course be expected to play the role of the happy couple.”

Swerve nodded, studious, as the first layers of quick-dry paint were applied in broader, steady strokes to his leg. Starscream paused to allow them to set as he kept speaking. “How do you feel about  _ physical contact?” _

The minibot seemed to waffle for a moment before gracing the other with a shrug. “Nobody’s ever really wanted to be too physical with me, besides wanting to punch me, maybe, so that’s all sorta gray…”

Starscream hummed, ignoring the wash of outrage that he always felt on the other’s behalf when he said things like that. “Well, do you have any reason to believe being touched would make you uncomfortable?”

There was another long pause, and Swerve’s fingers knotted tightly together as if he feared giving an incorrect answer. Starscream frowned to himself at the display as Swerve spoke up. “Uh, no? I’ve always taken handshakes and stuff pretty well?”

“ _ Handshakes? _ Swerve,  _ really.”  _ Starscream admonished gently, setting aside the airbrush after another round of quick layers, reaching for the tinier mech’s hands. Swerve focused on his face uncomprehendingly as he let the seeker work his thick digits out of their tangle, instead angling his own servo and slotting their fingers together with an easy, warm smile. “There. This is probably the most impersonal touch I could think of, besides perhaps a servo on your shoulder. How do you feel?”

“Um,” Swerve begins, and  there’s the slightest hesitation still, his optics first flickering to their joined servos before snapping back to Starscream’s face, “I don’t mind? I mean, it’s-- it’s nice.”

Starscream’s smile widened a bit and he nodded, letting his servo pull away after a moment. “I don’t think that, for propriety’s sake, we’d be doing anything too awful in front of a crowd. Maybe somewhere where we know someone could find us, for the purpose of stirring up gossip.”

Swerve nodded, watching Starscream work quietly for a moment before he blinked. “What do you mean by ‘too awful’?”

“Oh, just that we won’t,” Starscream made a flippant gesture, “Start necking in the middle of the street. We might agree to kiss at some point down the line before this ruse is done, but it won’t be in front of a crowd, I don’t think. Only where one or two people will see us.”

Swerve nodded slowly. “And when are we going to be done? Not--” The minibot sort of flinched, the chuckled, immediately going back to wringing his hands. “Not that I mind helping you. I don’t. I don't mind, you know, any of this. I just want to have a sort of… timeline?”

Starscream was silent a moment as he worked, catching Swerve's eyes as he made another small adjustment to his airbrush. He hesitated briefly as he tested his change, then began as he moved his eyes down to Swerve’s knee. “I’m more than certain that between the hospital staff and Rattrap, your name has gotten around in conjunction with my… fib. We would have to end our so-called relationship in enough time between now and then to seem convincing.”

Swerve nodded as the first stripe of the second coat was laid down, leaving him glossy and shining. He made a note buff himself next time he got a chance, to make the rest of his paint match his new limbs.

“That being said,” Starscream continued as he worked around the thick kibble of the grounder’s leg, “I would gauge that this whole charade can be done with in less than a year if we _ really milk the drama _ .”

The minibot couldn’t help but snort at the tone the seeker used, tensing his leg to keep it still and shoving his hands into his face to hide his goofy grin. Starscream stalled at the end of his strip, watching as Swerve’s shoulders heaved silently in his mirth. There was an urge in Starscream’s Spark to try and unbury the mech’s smile, but he stifled it-- they were close enough, he decided, as it was. When Swerve calmed himself, he looked back to the seeker, offering him something of a resigned look.

“A  _ year _ ?” He asked softly.

“Less than that, probably. Unless you want to be wrapped up in the biggest political-star-scandal since the end of the war.” Starscream offered frankly as he lifted the minibot’s leg to start painting the underside.  He watched out of his peripheral vision as Swerve eventually shrugged.

“... I guess that really makes us roommates, then?” He asked, his tone hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sister is in town for a week or roundabouts, so while updates probably won't be affected, responses to reviews might come late. I'll get to them all though, I promise!! Thank you to everyone for your kind words so far, and I hope you continue to enjoy this story :D
> 
> P.S.; Please let me know if you see any glaring errors!


	5. Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New developments and the story of a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Thursday somewhere, right? I was too excited and I had to upload this early. This is actually one of my top three favorite chapters. I'm not sure if it's #1 or #2 but... it's up there. The other one it's tied-ish with is chapter Seven. I am literally perishing waiting to upload that one. Anyway, enjoy!!

The next few days were the same flurry of activity and restless work that the whole week prior had been, seeing Starscream off much earlier in the day and home much later at night. He slept hard and woke up as tired as if he'd gotten no rest, his attention span and his temper both shortened and only his growing fears of how his actions might affect Swerve kept him from truly going off on any of his employees. Even when Windblade showed up with the rude Velocitronian mech, Knock Out, Starscream managed to keep himself down to a few pointed looks. 

He may or may not have spent a few hours that night checking his frame in the mirror, as well, perturbed by the surgeon’s comments about his size. At least the femme seemed a little more bearable. 

Two mornings after Knock Out and Moonracer took their seats on the Council of Worlds, Starscream finally had the encounter he had been waiting for.

“Starscream!” Circuit’s voice came from Starscream’s left, and any plans the seeker had for a pleasant walk to work were immediately foiled.  “Care to comment on the recent rumors of you being in a pre-bond?”

“ _ No. _ ” he immediately growled back over a shoulder, not bothering to stop his stride. Circuit, with Longtooth beside, followed behind him, the reporter’s thumb microphone extended. 

“The people have a right to know, Starscream!” Circuit protested, making the seeker whirl on him, his own finger outstretched. Too much of his anger had coalesced with no outlet in the week prior, and too much more promised to continue piling on him in the immediate future for him to have the patience to put up with such an annoying reminder of his own mistakes. Before he could allow any words out of his mouth, though, his thoughts went back to how it would affect Swerve when all was said and done. His face was scrunched up for only a moment more in frustration before he looked up to the top of his tower, frown softening. The little minibot was inadvertently rounding him out, and he didn't know how he felt about it. 

His moment of reflection was interrupted by Circuit’s obnoxious voice, now much closer.

“Is he up there right now, Starscream? Are you  _ thinking _ about him?” He asked with some approximation of tenderness in his voice, and then, more passionately, “Let's go to him. Your spark clearly can't stand to be apart from his for very long.” 

Starscream straightened, frowning his best  _ Ultra Magnus _ frown and crossing his arms.  “No, he's not, and you're not going anywhere near him  _ or _ my property. If I find out you  _ have _ , I’ll call the guard and have you arrested.”

“On what grounds?!” Circuit demanded, stamping his pede. Starscream’s wings flicked and he raised an optical ridge at the other, unimpressed, looking up at Longtooth with a face that asked if the smaller yellow mech was always this stubborn or just when he  _ really  _ wanted something. In response, the camera mech shrugged in a way that kept his video feed mostly still.

“ _ Harassment. _ Loitering. Other things, probably.” Starscream replied casually, shrugging dismissively himself and turning to walk away again. This time, neither Circuit nor Longtooth followed. 

“We’ll get the truth, Starscream!” Circuit called when Starscream was by the end of the block, prompting the seeker to turn around, cup his hands around his mouth and shout back.

“Get away from my house, Circuit!” he called, before crossing the street and continuing toward the Citadel briskly. When he was gone out of sight, Circuit let his arms drop to his sides briefly before scrubbing a servo over his helm, glaring at the sidewalk. He turned and looked back at Longtooth, and then up towards the penthouse of Starscream's tower. As if on cue, a blur of red and white appeared through the gaps of the balustrades above them, and Circuit’s field rippled with excitement as Longtooth studiously focused on what he could see of the fast moving blob.

“Are you getting this?” Circuit asked, optics flickering over the balcony and then behind him as he started to back up to try and get a better view. The cameramech made an affirmative gesture, slowly adjusting the resolution to get a better image of the mystery mech, but just as the image began to clear up the mech pulled away from the railing and was gone. Beside him, Circuit made a noise of frustration.

“No!” The reporter groaned, scrubbing his servos down his face in frustration, then turning and surveying his surroundings. Longtooth shut off his feed and watched him as he jogged across the street and peered behind a half-collapsed wall, then turned and waved the cameramech over.

“What now?” Longtooth asked, watching as Circuit hopped the low section of the wall, turned to him and pointed at the balcony again.

“We are getting that story, one way or another.” the reporter proclaimed, his tone full of determination. “I hope you're ready for a  _ stakeout _ , Longtooth.”

* * *

 

Oblivious to the drama below him, Swerve paced beside the table, biting at his lip and working his fingers into knots. Sitting on the tabletop was Starscream's lunch, forgotten in his haste to get to the citadel. This put Swerve at an impasse. Starscream had warned that his home would be under intense scrutiny now, and leaving alone was a bad idea. But the seeker had been having such a bad week at work already, and to go without lunch today would only make it worse. Swerve bit at the tip of his digit, frowning deeply. 

There was a way to fix this, a  _ simple _ , direct way to fix the problem he was faced with. Turning, the minibot brought up the holomonitor and navigated to the homepage for the Citadel, checking Starscream’s office hours. He made a note of the listed lunch hour, checked the best route to the Citadel on a map of Metroplex, and with a few hours to spare before he had to leave he made his way to the washrack to buff himself out.

* * *

* * *

 

Starscream's tower was outside of Metroplex proper, a restored ruin of Old Iacon, surrounded by other unrestored ruins that served no purpose and had simply not been reached in the queue for demolition. It was in one of those shambling wreckages that the two-mech news team of the Iacon Communication Service crouched, watching the door to the tower lobby studiously. Hours had passed like that in monotony and discomfort. Circuit’s patience was fraying and he was tempted to call it quits when the doors opened in a blur of red and white and a minibot emerged from the tower, walking away at a brisk pace.

“Longtooth!” The reporter cried, trying to alert his partner to what he already saw, “There he goes!”

“I see him, I see him…” Longtooth muttered, zooming in on the receding form of the minibot. The details were sketchy without a scope or a telescoping lense to focus through, but it was easy enough to make out a few things and get some blurry footage for the sensation piece Circuit was dying to make. Beside him, the yellow mech heaved himself to his pedes and let out a high, synthesized whistle that stopped their prey in his tracks before dropping back behind the wall again. Across the street, the minibot looked around nervously for a moment, turning in a circle to look for the source of the sound which had echoed off all the surrounding structures, obscuring the news team’s location. He held something in his hands, a smallish black box with lines of color almost too small to see from how far away they were running at an angle across the faces of it. 

Swerve, as their investigation had revealed was their quarry’s name, had given them the perfect shot they needed to do their piece, and though Circuit longed to accost the mech and do an in-depth interview, Longtooth stopped him. They didn't need the blowback from Starscream; worming their way out of repercussions for this would be bad enough. The reporter conceded reluctantly, and together they watched as Swerve shuffled off down the road toward the nearest access gate of Metroplex.

When he was gone, Circuit reclined against the ruined wall and scrubbed at his optics with the butt of his palms, then looked over at Longtooth, positively vibrating with barely restrained excitement. He climbed to his feet, dusting himself off and offering a hand to where Longtooth still sat with his back to the wall.

“Longtooth, my friend,” he said as the cameramech took his hand and he hauled the other to his feet, “Let's go make history.”

* * *

* * *

 

Swerve arrived at the citadel filled with anxiety. It was the first time he had been out of Starscream's--  _ their--  _ apartment since returning from the Medical Center, and even submerged in the outside world, leaving was still an iffy concept for him. He watched the Citadel from across the street, checking the time on his HUD and making sure he scoukd still afford to be indecisive. Swerve regarded the place where he had  _ met _ Starscream slowly, frowning at the guards posted outside the door. He had no idea if the access to the municipal building was restricted, but judging by the light foot traffic in and out of the building he didn't think so. He frowned, cursing himself for not thinking things over more, but moved across the street, determined.

He made it up the steps and into the doors unchallenged by the guards, pausing to take in the lobby and the way bots moved around in it. At the far end of the room were four elevators, all operating on different floors judging by the holo-displays above the doors, and on each side of the lobby was a desk with an attendant. Mechs mulled about, talking to attendants, waiting on elevators, and checking a listing of floors on either side of the bank of lifts. Swerve took a few hesitant steps forward, then angled himself towards the help desk on the left.  After a moment, when the bot that was there was done with his questions and headed toward the elevators, Swerve stepped up onto the dias for minibots, and hesitated again as the clerk directed their attention to him.

“How can I help you?” They said, their voice kind. Swerve shifted, adjusting his hold on the lunchbox he’d carried here.

“Uh-- I have a delivery for Starscream?” He said quietly, “I don't know what to do, I’m… new.” 

The clerk offered him an easy smile, checking their holomonitor for a moment before pointing towards the elevator banks. “Starscream is still meeting with the Council Of Worlds. Take one of the two elevators in the middle to the top floor and tell someone you're here to make a delivery. They'll help you from there.”

Swerve nodded and thanked the clerk, merging into the now shortened queue for the left hand center lift, and when it returned to the lobby he filled in with four other bots. One by one they filed out as they reached the destination floors until Swerve was alone, cradling Starscream’s lunch and worrying the inside of his lip.

When the doors open he stepped out into a lobby almost as large as the one downstairs, minimalist in design but still possessing of a certain grace that made it worthy of being the highest floor of a rebuilding world’s capital building. It was a natural environ of Metroplex, Swerve realized, and the thought only cranked his anxiety higher. There were no help desks here with nice bots to direct him where he needed to go; he was on his own. He moved across the foyer slowly, stopping to observe a directory holo-display. He took a deep breath, turned and made his way down the left hall to the door that bore Starscream’s name. 

It stood open, and kneeling on the chair behind the desk organizing stacks of datapads was the same tawny minibot that had been trailing Starscream weeks before. Almost as soon as the bartender stepped into sight, Rattrap’s helm snapped up and he frowned vehemently.

“How'd  _ you _ get in here?” Rattrap demanded, straightening up from where he'd been stooped over his work at Starscream's desk. “An’ whaddya want?”

“Uh.” Swerve began, optics flickering down toward the floor, then to the box in his big servos, then back to Rattrap hesitantly, “Starscream-- Starscream forgot his lunch, I--...”

Rattrap looked him over judgmentally, red optics narrowing when their gazes met, staring him down until Swerve's anxiety got the better of him and he looked away, back to the floor. Out of his periphery, he watched as the other minibot heaved a sigh and lifted a hand to his audial, a sign that he was making a private comm. After a few long moments where Rattrap pinched the bridge of his nose, he placed both servos on the desk for a moment, then waved one. 

“Alright. Go down ta’ tha end a’ tha hall, double doors, Alpha Meetin’ Chamber. Knock first, but they're adjournin’ in a minute, ya’ can go give it to 'im ya’self.” Rattrap sighed again. Swerve offered the other a smile and a quick thanks before he retreated, moving off toward the end of the hall opposite of the lobby. 

The only thing on that wall was two sets of double doors, one on each end, and Swerve waited a moment, staring at the embellished words that denoted this was the room he was looking for. Beyond the door he could hear muffled voices, and he grimaced briefly at the thought of interrupting before throwing on his best smile and knocking. He tried not to cringe at how loud it sounded, and how the voices immediately silenced on the far side of the door. A few moments passed before echoing footsteps lead up to the door and with a beep, it slid aside.

“Yes, how can I help you?” A red and black femme asked, someone Swerve recognized from the news reports as Windblade.  He shuffled his feet and swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“Um. I-I was looking for, that is, I have a delivery for--” He began, smile faltering. She cocked her head, wings spreading in something Swerve assumed meant curiosity if her cant was the same as Starscream’s. He took a deep breath, doing his best to calm down. “I’m here to see Starscream.”

“Swerve?” Came Starscream’s voice from behind Windblade, and after a moment the door was opened wider, the femme stepped back and instead Starscream looked down at him. “What are you doing here?”

“You forgot your lunch,” Swerve opined quietly, holding up the lunchbox with a shy half-smile. He wasn’t unaware of the confused looks the femme was directing between Starscream and himself. 

“You didn’t have to bring it,” Starscream said, his voice the same soft tone he usually used with Swerve. The minibot’s smile grew into something more full and genuine, more like himself as he shrugged.

“I didn’t want you to go without.” He said, and then looked from Windblade to Starscream and back. “I’m not interrupting you guys, am I? Rattrap said it was ok to knock on the door. I was going to leave it in your office for you…”

“No, no!” Windblade immediately denied, moving aside and looking at Starscream’s face, almost in challenge. “In fact, we were just about to break for lunch anyway. Why don’t you come in? It wouldn’t do to have you make the trip all the way here and not stay a few minutes, at least.” 

Starscream looked back at her with narrowed optics before nodding, looking back down at Swerve, smiling almost defiantly.  “She’s right. Since you did go to all the trouble, we can share the lunch you packed for me  _ together _ .”

The minibot smiled as the door was opened and Starscream stepped aside to allow him into the conference room; all but the hall-side wall was comprised of one-way windows that curved in a semicircle, making up roughly a fifth of the top floor’s circumference. Most of the light in the room came from the sun outside. In the middle of the room was a long table with a heavy duty holo-console, at which sat two bots who were exotic in ways that Windblade both was and wasn’t, colored red and mint. Swerve had stopped just inside the door, letting Starscream close it behind him, and was framed between the two fliers. With an air of showmanship, the seeker motioned to the two sitting at the table.

“Swerve, welcome to the Council of Worlds.” He said congenially. His hand hovered beside the mint bot, and then the larger red one in turn. “That’s Moonracer, and her fellow Velocitronian Delegate Knock Out.” And then his helm tilted towards the flier on his other side. “You’ve already met Windblade, the Delegate for Caminus, and Rattrap, the Cybertronian Delegate.”

For lack of anything better to do, Swerve smiled and waved, glad he’d taken the time to buff himself with all the optics that were on him now. 

“Delegates,” Starscream continued as the door on the far end of the room opened, admitting Rattrap and a blue femme that Swerve vaguely recognized from the news, “Meet my Conjunx Endura to be, Swerve of Ibex.”

Beside him, Windblade tensed, her wings hiked up on her back in a slow but sure arc, and she looked from Starscream to Swerve before smiling like she’d just been given a small fortune.  “How wonderful to finally meet you!” She exclaimed, touching the tips of her fingers to the plating over her spark in a universal gesture of candid surprise. 

Behind her, Rattrap slid into his seat and muttered something that sounded like, “Called it.” Which earned looks from pretty much everyone in the room beside Windblade and Swerve, who shook hands instead. The blue femme made her way towards them, which caused Starscream’s wings to raise just slightly as she seemed to scope the situation out wordlessly from her position a few feet behind Windblade.

At the table, Knock Out waved two fingers and offered an easy, half lidded smile at the chunky grounder when Swerve’s attention wandered back that way. 

“Hey, shortstuff,” the racer all but purred, smirk in place, his helm cradled in one hand, “Nice finish.”

Beside him, Moonracer paused mid wave to swat at Knock Out’s helm, scowling at him with much the same expression Starscream adopted. He yanked his helm away from her hands and frowned back at her, and for a moment they glared at one another before Knock Out’s cheek hit his hand again and he directed his attention elsewhere, pouting. She turned her optics back to Swerve, smiling apologetically.

“Yes, well. You must be tired. Let’s sit.” Starscream said after a few moments had passed for Swerve to take in everyone’s greetings. Together, they moved to the table, the seeker’s hand pressed against the minibot’s cowl reassuringly, perhaps possessively, sitting beside one another as Swerve set the box onto the table between two of the inputs for the holoconsole. The blue femme and Windblade slid into seats next to each other with a space between Swerve and Windblade, quietly engaging one another in conversation as they broke into the lunch the femme, whom Starscream quietly called named Chromia, had brought them. Starscream opened the lunch box up and set each of the small portions of food out, fishing in the bottom of the lunch box for the matching utensils. 

“Have I told you how much I appreciate that you make me lunch every day?” Starscream asked, and even though his voice was quiet he could see Windblade trying to watch surreptitiously and Chromia openly staring at them behind Swerve’s back.

“Every day,” Swerve laughed, tangling his fingers together in his lap. “You don't have to share with me. I can wait to eat until I get home.” 

“Nonsense.” The seeker insisted, reaching over to touch the minibot's shoulder gently. 

“You only have one fork, though.” the minibot pressed,  concern leaking into his tone. Starscream turned and looked at him, smiling when their eyes met, taking a container 

“I suppose we’ll just have to feed each other, then.”  Starscream purred quietly. Behind him, Rattrap threw his hands over his head and got to his pedes.

“Alright, that's it!” he shouted, grabbing his own half-eaten lunch off the table, and turning to march toward the door, “I’m outta here. I ain't sittin’ through this.” 

Starscream watched him go, shrugging, before he went back to skewering a bite of salad onto the fork he was holding. “Besides, you always make me such wonderful meals. You deserve to indulge in then from time to time, too.”

Starscream held out the forkful of  food, cupping his hand under the bit as he brought it to Swerve’s mouth. The minibot couldn't fight down his blush as the seeker withdrew the fork, watching him avidly as he covered his mouth with a hand to chew what he'd been given, his own optics on the floor behind his newly replaced visor.

They exchanged bites a few more times before there was another rap on the door and Knock Out stood from where he'd been casually observing them and the skyline of Metroplex in equal measure. He made his way to the door. “That'll be us.”

He paused there a moment, then turned back towards the congregation of mechs and femmes. “Starscream, it's _yelling_ _at me_ again.” he said, sighing.

With his own sigh, Starscream set the food aside with a reassurance that Swerve should continue eating. The minibot watched him make his way to the door before Windblade caught his attention, Chromia leaning around her front.

“So, you and Starscream. How long has that been going on?” Chromia asked before Windblade could say anything, her voice gruff. It took Swerve a moment to place it as the voice he’d heard at the explosion before he blinked, smiling at the two.

“A little under six months now,” he said, turning in his seat to face them better and snapping closed the container he and Starscream had emptied already. 

Windblade opened her mouth, then hesitated, biting her lip and looking back at Chromia, who was watching Swerve with a vigilant expression as a hand found it's way into Windblade’s, probably as an anchor for the flier’s excitement. The cityspeaker’s wings hadn't lowered an inch since Starscream introduced him. 

“And he makes you cook him  _ lunch _ ?” Chromia asked, her voice filled with suspicion. 

“Makes me…” Swerve began, face screwing up in uncertainty before he shook his head. “No, no. I just want him to have something good to eat during the day. I don't have to cook for him, he even got upset that I cooked dinner the day I got out of the MMC.”

“You were in the hospital?” Windblade asked as Chromia sat back and went quiet beside her, frowning and doing her best to seem interested without neglecting her lunch.

“Yeah, I was caught in the blast over at Maccadam’s. Starscream repainted me when I got out, and brought me blankets while I was there.” Swerve said, not missing the way Chromia seemed to go rigid at the mention of the explosion. After a moment and a hand-squeeze from Windblade, the bodyguard relaxed, looking over towards where Starscream and Knockout were.

“So Starscream… Treats you well?” Windblade asked, voice quirking up at the end of her question like it was pure curiosity that drove her to ask. Swerve nodded emphatically, grinning something wide and goofy. 

“He’s my best friend. We spend all our free time together. If I was any happier, there'd be two of me running around.” he opined with a grin, leaning in conspiratorially, “And wouldn't you know, he’s a cuddler?”

Windblade grinned back, tossing a look over her shoulder at the reticent blue femme that picked at her food with disinterest, audials still turning as she clearly kept track of the conversation.  _ “Her too. _ ”

Across the room, Starscream finally got the door to recognize Knock Out and open to his code, stepping back as the surgeon accepted his and Moonracers’s food before closing the door again. Before the seeker could walk away, the Velocitronian had handed off his order to his counterpart like a baton and had grabbed Starscream's elbow, halting his retreat.

“A word?” Knockout said, tossing his helm over toward the corner of the room, where the bank of windowpanes met the wall. Starscream gave him an uncertain look, but followed after a moment, and together they gazed out over the noontime bustle of Metroplex. After a moment of surprisingly comfortable silence watching the peaceful day drift by, Knock Out turned to look at the emperor with the same easy, confident smile on his handsome face. “So. I’ll cut right to the point and ask; What made you decide to be with someone as… bulky as Swerve?”

Starscream's wings hiked up in agitation, and he scowled at the racer before turning to leave. Knock Out caught him by the elbow again, and Starscream turned around to glare at him. The surgeon put up his hands in a placating gesture, face suddenly sober.

“You misunderstand. I don't ask to be impertinent. Call it… Homesickness.” The red delegate offered quickly, looking back towards the window with a distant gaze. “You two remind me of my Conjunx and I. I left him back on Velocitron. The distance is not impassable with the space bridge, and the time apart between bridge openings not unbearable, but… I miss him. You understand, don't you?” 

Starscream was silent for a moment before he nodded, slowly. Reluctantly. Knock Out offered him a sad smile. 

“Humor me, then. What does someone like you see in someone like him?” the surgeon asked quietly, angling himself toward where Moonracer, Windblade, and Chromia were all listening to Swerve animatedly tell a story. Starscream turned as well, smiling to see that Swerve had attracted the smaller Velocitronian’s attention enough that she had moved half way down the table, to the seat paralleling Chromia. 

“He makes me laugh.” He answered honestly after a moment, smiling softly at the congregation of the far end of the table. Knock Out smiled, humming in the affirmative, before waving a hand at him. 

“Thank you. You can go back to your lunch with him now. If you'd like, ask Moonracer for my fork, I suddenly don't feel much like eating.”

Starscream nodded slowly, turning and walking away to slip back into his seat. For all that his presence usually sent the atmosphere of a room south, nobody seemed to care when he sat down beside Swerve, such was the minibot's grip on his audience.

“I thought you were leaving with the Lost Light?” Chromia asked suddenly as Swerve’s story wound down, and he looked up quickly, visor bright. “You were running auditions. I took Nautica. You called it something clever. Crawditions?”

“Crewditions.” Swerve corrected with a laugh, his voice small. “Yeah, uh. Starscream and I ended up getting serious, so I decided to stay, instead.”

“Then how come I haven't seen you out, doing things together? I’m out all the time and I’ve only seen you a handful of times the past half month, maybe.” Chromia said, pointing a finger at Swerve, earning a frown from the minibot and a hand on her shoulder from Windblade.

Starscream leaned forward to deliver an excuse, but Swerve beat him to the punch, sliding his hand into the seeker’s gently. “You’re only one bot. There are a lot of people who would like to spoil a quiet night between us somewhere, if we could find somewhere to take us. Not everyone can separate Starscream from his actions during the war,  _ and _ , I have bad anxiety. Staying in is easier for both of us.”

For a moment, nothing was said, and then Windblade shoved Chromia back into her seat from where she had been leaning over the flier towards Swerve. “I’m sorry for her,” She offered, “She’s… protective.”

“No harm done.” Swerve answered, plastering on his best goofy grin, before checking the time on his hud and turning to Starscream. “Oh, it's getting kind of late. We should probably eat so you can get back to work on time, huh?”

Starscream tore his eyes away from his glaring match with Chromia, nodding softly and reaching for where the open container of food was, the same place he left it before getting up to help Knock Out. “Unfortunately. I  _ did _ say you could feed yourself your half while I was gone, though.”

“Maybe I like you feeding me.” Swerve teased with a wobbly smile, and the seeker’s wings flicked up and down as Moonracer stifled her giggle and Windblade pointedly hid her smile behind her hand. Starscream shot the minibot an incredulous expression before straightening up.

“Well, perhaps I’ll have to do it more often, then.”  he said with an air of promise,  causing the bartender to nearly choke on the bite he had in his mouth and in response shove both hands over his face to hide his blush.  The seeker grinned something triumphant as he pat his partner’s back.

They finished up the packed lunch together quickly and Swerve re-packed the dishes, subspacing the lunchbox to make it easier to carry. Starscream saw him to the door, and before he could go, lowered himself to his knees and took  Swerve's hands in his own.

“Thank you, really, for bringing me my lunch, darling.” Starscream said, looking into the mini’s visor. Swerve grinned and shrugged. 

“Any excuse to see you is a good excuse.” He offered, and over Starscream's shoulder he saw Windblade quickly smack Chromia’s arm as if to get her attention, her eyes locked somewhere between herself and where Swerve and Starscream were.

“You're too sweet.” Starscream said with a chuckle, his voice still the same soft honey tone he always used around the minibot that the rest of the Council was so unused to hearing. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the side of Swerve’s face, smiling at him softly as he pulled away. “Be safe getting home.”

Swerve nodded dumbly as he cupped his cheek and Starscream got to his pedes. “Have a good, uh. Rest of your day. See you at home.” He replied as he backed out of the room, face hot. The seeker’s wings were low on his back, something he learned was a good thing, usually.  He turned, hand on cheek, and made his way back to the elevators.

On the other side of the door, Starscream paused to listen to the sound of Swerve’s receding pedesteps before turning, being met with three looks of incredulity and one of disinterest. Wings hiking up, he frowned vehemently at the congregation before him.

“ _ What!”  _ He snapped, back to his regular harsh register, optics roving over each council member as if in challenge, “You act like you've never seen a mech share lunch with his  _ pre-bond _ before!” 

To his right, Moonracer finally burst into giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, please let me know if you see any glaring errors. See you next Thursday!


	6. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of skill, believability, and relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, running to my computer: IT'S THURSDAY! IT'S T H U R S D A Y!!
> 
> anyway so this is my least favorite chapter i think, but it's pretty long (6k words) so maybe the extra content will make up for it. I hope you can enjoy this one cause i sure don't. ALSO i think last chapter I said "chapter eight is the best chapter!!" and i was mistaken, it was chapter nine that is my favorite so two more weeks and you get to see what i think is the pinnacle of this fanfiction. WELL, WHATEVER, enjoy my dudes.

Starscream woke up late to his comm link ringing beside his bed. He blearily checked the time, finding it much too late to let it ring through to storage. Sitting up and scrubbing his faceplates, he answered, pausing only briefly to yawn.

“Hello?” He greeted, not thinking to check the ID on the comm as he pulled a blanket off his wings and suddenly became aware of the faint smell of  _ breakfast _

“Hey, Star’.” Wheeljack’s voice replied, soft and welcoming. It wasn't a business call, then, which was perfectly agreeable to Starscream, because he didn't think he could summon the processor to make sense of Jackie’s technobabble if he tried. “Seen the news?”

“Gods, no, what's happening now?” He groaned, cradling his face with his hands again when he was finished untangling himself from his sheets. “Please tell me it can wait until after breakfast.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, probably.” Wheeljack said, and Starscream could hear the mumble of the vid screen the scientist kept playing in his lab for the background noise when he was working alone. “I mean,  _ dealin’  _ with it probably can. You might wanna at least check it out though so you know what I’m talkin’ about.”

Starscream obeyed with a sigh, shuffling out to the lounge where the news was on already, on mute, as Swerve often internalized the audio instead if Starscream was working or sleeping.  He squinted at the headline, frowning and trying to make out what was being said before leaning over the couch, grabbing the remote and searching for the unmute function.

“What's that noise?” Wheeljack asked, probably picking up the sizzling of the pan the minibot was working with, but Starscream didn't answer him as he found the button and turned the volume back on. On the screen, the peach colored clerk from the hospital was speaking in noncommittal terms to Circuit about patient confidentiality. Then, the scene changed to a low-quality picture of Swerve holding something Starscream recognized as his lunchbox, looking around just outside the tower they stood in now, clearly distracted.

“Oh,  _ frag me. _ ” was all the seeker muttered as he moved around the couch to plop down and rub his face again. He heard Wheeljack's bark of laughter over the comms, and his helm sunk lower between his shoulders for a moment in humiliation.

“So, is it a sensation piece or are you really seeing somebody?” Wheeljack asked as the seeker muted the vid screen again. Starscream could hear he had muted his own vid screen as well, which meant he was either going to start in with the science talk it was still too early for or it was time for them to have a heart to heart. Starscream didn't know which he dreaded more. He peered over his shoulder to where Swerve’s shuffling was winding down.

“...He’s real,” Starscream admitted eventually, straightening back out. “We’ve been seeing each other for almost half a year now.”

“The pre-bond stuff right, too?” Wheeljack asked, his voice quiet, interested. 

“Yeah,” the seeker admitted, frowning and pinching his nasal ridge so he didn't have to look at the silent clip of himself in the hospital lobby, proclaiming to be visiting his Conjunx-- the moment that had started this whole mess. “Wheeljack, I’m sorry. I wasn't thinking, in that clip...” 

“Nah, Starscream, I get it. Anyone can see you're upset. I just wish you would’a told me at all. I mean,” his voice picked up, suddenly mirthful, and Starscream could imagine his winglets wiggling in joy. “I mean, I’m your amica! I’m thrilled for ya’! Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

There was a moment of silence between them where the ruler let the tension drain from his frame, and he hugged himself lightly, smiling into the quiet ambiance of the penthouse. “Thanks, Jackie. That… that means more to me than you know.”

There was bashful silence from Wheeljack for a moment before his voice came back, filled with hesitant curiosity. “So-- and I’m not gonna  _ judge ya’  _ so get it outta yer processor now-- why  _ didn’t _ ya’ tell me?”

“I don't know. I guess I’m not used to having friends to  _ tell  _ things, people I can trust with… sensitive subjects. To not use everything against me. I just didn't think about it.” He murmured softly, optics downcast, spark clenching at the thought of lying to his closest friend. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t apologize.” Wheeljack chided gently. “I understand. Just try to keep me in mind, alright? And clear lunch out on your next day off. As your Amica, I gotta meet this guy-- make sure he's gonna treat you right.”

Starscream laughed, smiling at the idea of Wheeljack taking Swerve’s stock over lunch at Café Praxus-- ironically one of the only places that would suffer Starscream’s patronage without any foul looks. “Sure Jackie, that sounds great.” he offered honestly, and then, “But he treats me fine. In fact, he got out of bed to cook me breakfast of his own accord. I wasn't even awake.”

“What?” the scientist asked, sounding surprised, “He a chef or somethin’?”

“A bartender.” The seeker amended. “He ran a bar on the Lost Light for a while.”

“Ahh, a mech after my own spark.” Wheeljack joked. Before Starscream could reply, his attention was caught by movement on his periphery, and he looked up to meet Swerve’s gaze.

“Hey,” the minibot said, “Food’s ready if you are.”

“Okay. Give me just a minute?”  Starscream asked tentatively. Swerve nodded in understanding and shuffled away to do something elsewhere, likely intending to wait for seeker before eating himself.

“That him?” Wheeljack asked, sounding quietly gleeful. Starscream made a noise in the affirmative absently, and the scientist laughed. “He sounds nice. Sounds  _ cute.” _

“I’m hanging up on you now,” Starscream said, rising to his pedes. He was glad the scientist couldn't see the smile that spread across his face when the white mech’s laughter only increased.

* * *

 

Starscream got one day off for every seven days that he worked; today was one of those days, and after eating breakfast together he had gotten up, stretched, and declared that he and Swerve were going somewhere. They had taken to walking everywhere together to compensate for the difference of their alt modes, and Starscream considered that it was perhaps the one upside of Swerve having been seen already before then-- they didn’t have to try and act uninvolved. 

The sun was shining pleasantly as they made their way to the destination Starscream refused to disclose, his smile mischievous and smug every time the minibot plied him with questions about where they were going or what they were doing there. He brushed each battery of inquiries off, assuring the mech he would see when they arrived and reveling in Swerve’s frustrated groans. Soon enough, Starscream turned a corner and stopped in front of a squat building set back on the corner of two streets, deep within the entertainment district of Metroplex.

“Swerve,” He said, cocking his helm and gesturing at the building they stood in front of, “What do you think of that building?”

The minibot looked from Starscream to the structure and back again. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think of it?” Starscream repeated, shrugging and stepping up to look through the dirty glass of the windows. “If you had to do something with it, would it be a chore?”

“I mean, no?” Swerve said, stepping up to mimic his companion after a moment of hesitation. “It’s got good exposure, prime real estate being on the corner, though the yard could be a turnoff for certain kinds of businesses.”

Starscream hummed, backing away from the window when he was sure Swerve was busy trying to get a better look of the dark insides. He unsubbed the key required for entry and slid it through the lock in the door, which then moved aside to grant him access. He folded his hands behind his back and whistled quietly to get Swerve’s attention; the mech pulled his face away from the window and looked startled to see that Starscream was now standing half in, half out of the building.

“I don’t understand,” Swerve said, moving close enough that Starscream could lay a hand on his cowl and direct him into the building, where he dialed up the lights to a dull glow. “Is  _ this  _ what we came out to do?”

“Maybe,” Starscream said, moving to lean against the wall just next to the door. He watched and listened as Swerve muttered to himself while investigating the backrooms casually, then wandered back into sight. “So, what do you know about the Conjunx Ritus?”

“Uh, not much?” The minibot offered, dusting off a control panel distractedly, “There’s like, four acts. It changes state-to-state. Why?”

“The steps are always the same, though depending on who you ask the order doesn’t matter. Profference, intimacy, disclosure, and devotion.” Starscream began, pushing off the wall to walk up to the minibot who didn’t seem to be paying very much attention. “Seeing as though we  _ are  _ becoming Conjunx, and I  _ did  _ ask you first, it’s only natural I start the Ritus. That being said,” As he neared the minibot, who was looking up at him with the first semblance of  _ understanding  _ blossoming over his stark-white faceplates, he produced a datapad from his subspace and held it down for the other to see, one hand still tucked behind his back. “Sign this and my Act of Profference will be completed.”

Swerve gripped the datapad in both hands, his mouth moving occasionally as he read the terms stated for the lease of property within the booming entertainment district. He looked up at Starscream, expression somewhere between distressed and excited. “You  _ didn’t! _ ”

“I did.” Starscream said with a slow nod, his smile spreading over his faceplates like ink in water as Swerve fought and  _ lost  _ the battle to keep his from exploding out across his own. The minibot went back to reading through the terms, raking a hand down his face.

“Star’,” He said, hesitating a moment and peering up at Starscream like he expected to be reprimanded for the shortening of the seeker’s name, though continuing after he found no reproach on the emperor’s face “W-why?  _ Why?  _ I-- I don’t--! I mean, thank you! Obviously, thank you! I love it! But--  _ why?  _ A  _ bar?” _

“I figured if you had a bar you’d have less reason to spoil me so thoroughly every day.” Starscream said, his wings flickering low and pleased on his back. Swerve looked at him for a long moment, his expression twisting into one of playful defiance.

“Just for that, you know-- for  _ this,  _ for all of this-- I’m gonna spoil you even more. And it’s not even gonna be like, a one time thing. It’s gonna be forever. I’m not gonna stop, just to spite you.” Swerve said, shaking a digit at the other. Starscream laughed, watching as the minibot scrolled the last half-page to the bottom of the contract and affixed his glyph to the lease with a press of his thumb. They traded then, a datapad for the key-card that would allow the minibot access to the main control panel of the room.  The seeker threw him an easy smile as he reached up on the tips of his pedes to activate the controls, moving once more to lean against the wall by the door.

“Go on, then.” Starscream prompted, his voice full of mirth as he watched Swerve work through the menus and activate a micro-transformation in the wall that brought the panel down to a more workable height. “Impress me with your interior-design genius.”

Swerve twisted to shoot him a playful look. “I’ve had  _ four million years  _ to design my dream bar. When I get done here you’ll know  _ exactly  _ how great my interior-design genius really is.” With a hesitant servo, he flipped through some menus and brought up a vaguely chair- shaped box near-ish the seeker, the floor of the building transforming up to fit Swerve’s request. “Sit down. This will take a minute.” 

Starscream complied, moving to sit with one leg crossed over the other on the edge of the box. “Don’t let it take too long. We still have to go shopping. I can’t have a bar with my name attached to the lease furnished with only polygonal booths, now can I?”

Swerve turned to stare at him for a moment, bewildered, and Starscream just waved him back to what he was doing, smirk firmly in place.

* * *

They returned to the penthouse later that evening tired and dirty. Starscream had spent a good portion of his accumulated credits stocking and furnishing Swerve's new bar, and despite knowing it was an inconvenience to have lost the funds he couldn't find it in himself to mind. The minibot had pointedly refused to buy from anywhere that treated Starscream unkindly, and in the end had a tasteful selection of furniture slated for delivery early the next morning. On their way back they had stopped to pick up takeout for dinner, and after both had quickly washed the grime of the city off, they had sat down on the couch to eat with some mindless old action movie about robbing a bank in Tetrahex playing for a distraction.

Half way through their meal, Starscream’s head had snapped toward the doors to the lift and his wings had hiked up, expression like a storm cloud. The change from sedate to vicious threw the minibot off, and he scrambled to pull his pedes up closer to him as the seeker rose to his feet, growling lowly. 

“Starscream?” Swerve asked, coice quiet, visor glowing uncertainly. The other motioned for silence for a moment before pulling up a null-ray, half turning towards the minibot though his optics stayed focused on the doors to the lift. 

“Go to my office and lock the door behind you.” Starscream demanded seriously, his voice quiet and slow, “Someone's trying to break in. I’ve contacted the guard.”

“B-but they're-- they’re probably after  _ you, _ right? W-we should  _ both _ be taking cover!” Swerve protested gamely despite his obvious anxiety, his EMF wobbling before he pulled it tight to himself. “Or better yet,  _ I _ should be protecting  _ you!” _

“Swerve, we do not have time to argue about this right now. Please go.  _ If _ they make it through the locking systems I’ll stun them immediately and wait with them for the guard to get here.” He explained, tearing his optics off the door long enough to give the bartender a reassuring look. “Everything will be fine.  _ Trust me _ .”

There was a long moment where the minibot didn’t move, but then reluctantly he took a step backwards, nodded stiffly, and turned to hurry to the seeker’s office. When Starscream heard the door close heavily and the related security protocols engaged in his HUD, he relaxed slightly; at least Swerve would be safe in the office if he somehow failed to neutralize whoever was attempting to attack him.

In front of him he heard the dull thunk as the lift came to a stop, but the doors didn’t unlock for him like they would have for any normal visitor. Instead the security system locked the intruder out, just like they had in the lobby. He waited a few moments, stepping backwards to position most of himself behind the couch to block any incoming projectiles as the integrity of the lift door locks began to falter and finally collapsed. 

The doors opened with their usual squeal, the seeker’s optics scanning frantically for any sign of the intruder, but there was…  _ nothing.  _ He straightened slightly to get a better look into the lift, jolting back into his crouch when he caught the glint of a mirror fragment reflecting a blackish smudge back at him. Immediately he raised his null ray and fired, knocking the glittering tool away from its user’s servo. He had significantly lost the homefield advantage, and had no idea how much the intruder now knew of the layout of his home or where he was in relation to his furniture. He had the ability to move to the other end of his couch, but that would obscure his line of sight to the lift doors.  He cursed quietly to himself.

“Come out now!” He demanded, laying his arm along the back of the couch to steady his null-ray. There was no response from the mech in the lift, and Starscream growled. “What do you think this is going to achieve? Do you think you’re going to  _ kill me?  _ Is this some form of  _ revenge?”  _

“You put _yourself_ in this situation, Screamer.” The mech corrected, his voice obscured by a modulator. If Starscream did know him, he wouldn’t be able to recognize him. “A lot of people don’t like how you’re running the place. Think they could do a better job.”

“You  _ moron!”  _ Starscream shouted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “ _ Even if  _ you did kill me, my second would replace me until open elections were held to formally find someone to fill my position.  _ Assuming  _ you have twice the charisma my socially challenged assistant does, he would  _ still  _ become emperor before you did!”

The mech in the lift said nothing, and Starscream took it as a sign to continue. “Besides,  _ Windblade  _ would most likely step up to take my place after I’m gone.”

“Cybertronians would never elect an  _ alien!” _ the mech protested, and Starscream knew he had hit a nerve. 

“They would if  _ you  _ were the only option.” He said smugly. As he did, the glass to the balcony door beside him exploded into shards, allowing a second mech entry. The mech opened fire, and Starscream swung his arm, pointing the null ray and firing twice, hitting the mech both times. He fell like cut tree, smashing face down with his arm twisted awkwardly under him. The other mech took the opportunity to dive out from his cover, lighting the room up with his own enraged blaster fire. Starscream dove back down behind the couch, landing on his front and swinging his weaponed arm around it’s end to target the mech’s knee. He fired, and the mech fell with a shout, immediately continuing to flail around and howl on the floor.

“Throw your weapon away and  _ shut the hell up  _ or my null ray’s going from _ stun  _ to  _ char broil.”  _ Starscream demanded, scowling viciously. He watched the mech fling his blaster across the room half-heartedly, pulling his knee up to his chestplates to cradle it, and Starscream pulled himself to his feet when he was sure the other wasn’t interested in continuing the fight. He stepped over the writhing mech, who looked too young to be pulling politically motivated coups, and yanked out the override chip from the access panel in the lift, sending it back down for the guard officers who were, at this point, mulling around in the lobby with no way to provide assistance.

That’s what he got for fielding a force of nothing but grounders, he supposed.

He moved to collect both weapons, then stood over the writhing mech, whose face was now bathed in tears. He was cloaked in a gross, cheap temporary spray-on paint job that was leaving thick black marks everywhere he touched, like chalk, and Starscream reached down to wipe at his shoulders and chest, finally revealing an autobot symbol after a moment of searching.

“Mmmhm. I thought as much.” He crouched down, patting the despondent mech’s face to get his attention. “What’s your name?”

“Creosote,” The mech groaned. Starscream looked at his hand and grimaced, muttering about how fitting of a name that was, but the mech didn’t seem to notice.

“Alright, Creosote. You’re going to answer some questions for me. Who’s he?” He asked, pointing to the unconscious mech across the lounge. The mech rolled to one side and squinted for a long moment, making Starscream think this mech usual wore some type of corrective visor. 

“Corbel!” He shouted after a moment, going to move towards him and then clutching his knee with a loud gasp. He looked at Starscream, panic in his optics. “No, no, you-- You killed him! You  _ killed him!!” _

“Calm  _ down.  _ I hit him with two stun rays, the big oaf will feel it tomorrow but he’s far from  _ dead.  _ It takes a direct blast to the spark from a null-ray on stun to kill someone.” Starscream assured him, pulling his face back in his direction with the tips of his fingers. He waved the override chip in the mech’s face. “Focus, mechling. Where did you get this? Who gave it to you?”

“Corbel made it,” He groaned, “He worked with infiltrations during the war.”

“Must not have been very good at it,” Starscream muttered, tossing the chip onto the couch where he’d stowed the weapons. “Who sent you?”

“We sent ourselves! We don’t want to be ruled by some damn  _ ‘Con _ ! Especially not  _ you!”  _ Creosote yelled defiantly. Starscream frowned as a lift-full of guardsmen entered the room, and Creosote went suddenly still with fear before writhing dramatically. “Guards! This _ filthy Decepticon  _ shot me! In my own home!”

Starscream stood up and actually  _ laughed  _ at the gall of the mech, as the five officers simply stared down at him blankly. 

“Yeah, uh. That ‘ _ filthy Decepticon’  _ cuts our checks. If you seriously think any of us is gonna go with you on that  _ really bad  _ ploy, you’re dumber than your terrible paint job.” One of the ones towards the back said, shoving past his brothers-in-arms to loop his arms under the mechling's, muttering, “I can’t believe I had to drop my dinner for some stupid mechling with Primus Apotheosis,” and then louder, sighing, “Come on guys, lets get this place clear. Bloc, grab this ‘shafts legs and lets go.”

Three of them passed, two of the three nodding respectfully to Starscream as they went, and gathered the limp form of the larger mech up between the three of them as if they were pallbearers, all seven mechs fitting into the lift before one squeezed back out to talk to the seeker. They traded words and Starscream assured the other that he could handle writing a witness report and sending it in within the hour, and the mech moved back into the lift to help his comrades. When they were gone, Starscream sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, trying to ease back his growing headache as he examined the mostly superficial damage to his domicile. 

After a moment, he remembered that he’d sent Swerve away to hide, and turned to hurry down the hall, unlocking the door to the office from the outside. The door slid aside before he could say anything, and he twisted out of the way of a blast gone just wide enough that it didn't singe his plating. Behind the sound of the gun firing was the minibot’s startled yelp and the clatter of his weapon hitting the floor behind the desk.

“ _ Starscream!” _ Swerve yelled, his voice full of some unnamable emotion between relief and misery, “ _ You’re okay!” _

Starscream scoffed as he watched the minibot practically launch himself over the desk in an impressive display of mechadrenaline fueled athletics and curl himself around what he could reach of the seeker in an embrace. “You expected different?” He asked, patting Swerve’s cowl.

“You-- There were  _ gunshots  _ and I heard glass, and I had no idea what was happening and I had all these bad ideas about what could have gone wrong and the  _ door wouldn’t open  _ and I couldn’t-- I  _ couldn’t--”  _ Swerve rambled, visor fritzing wildly as he pulled away just slightly to look up into the seeker’s face. Starscream laid both hands on his shoulders and pushed him away enough to let himself kneel down to eye level, before bringing the other closer again, running his hands down the smaller mech’s arms to take his big red servos.

“Hey, it’s alright. Everything’s okay.” Starscream said quietly, his own EMF reaching out to try and soothe the frayed edges of the minibot’s. Swerve stood and veritably quivered in front of him as his optics locked onto a small wound on the edge of his wing. 

“How is it okay when you got  _ hurt?”  _ He demanded, “How is any of this okay? I didn’t do that, did I? Oh,  _ Solomus guide me-- _ ”

“No, that wasn’t you.” Starscream said sharply, catching Swerve’s attention, “That was our infiltrator’s  _ boyfriend _ and his itchy trigger finger. It’s barely even bleeding, my self repair will--”

“ _ Self repair?!”  _ Swerve howled, squeezing the seekers hands tightly, “Absolutely not! We’re going to MMC to have you checked over!”

“Swerve. We  _ both  _ lived through four million years of war. A tiny graze from a tiny energy pistol is hardly something to take up room at the medical center over. My self repair will get to it.”

“And what if it gets infected? What if it  _ rusts?”  _ Swerve demanded, looking frantic, “Those people you just fought off will have taken you out anyway!”

“Listen to me,” Starscream said, shifting on his legs, “If it’s  _ really bothering you  _ I’ll patch it up, or  _ you  _ can patch it up. I know your degree must have come with some sort of medical training. But I’m not going to the hospital.”

Swerve was silent a moment, looking down with something almost reminiscent of a pout on his face from the way his bottom lip jutted out while he veritably gnawed on the inside of it. Finally, he looked back up and nodded. “Fine. Let me patch you up.”

Starscream smiled, glad, for once, to compromise.

A few minutes and a change of location found Starscream laying on the floor in front of the couch, his wing in the air and Swerve behind him, saddled with the contents of a gutted first aid kit, hands moving numbly over everything as if he had no idea what to do first. He pooled his hands in his lap for a moment, biting at the inside of his lip again.

“Starscream?” He asked, and the seeker turned his head to regard the minibot over his shoulder. 

“I’m… sorry.” Swerve said, picking up a swab and wetting it with a light acid that would help with the debriding he had to do. 

“Sorry for what?” Starscream asked, turning his helm back to the vid-screen where the evening news was playing, now sharing stories from Velocitron and Caminus as well as around Metroplex and New Iacon. He seemed to not notice Swerve’s gentle ministrations to his wing, despite it's sensitivity. 

“I mean. Today has been, like, a lot. I…” Swerve moved the swab away and took up a strange tool, deftly cleaning the wound out. Save for a twitch after he’d pulled the tool away, Starscream once more remained still, and Swerve shifted uncomfortably. “I know we’re, um. In a  _ pre-bond  _ and all,” he said, with all the implication that said he was talking about the fact that they were  _ pretending  _ to be in one, “but, back in your office just now, I kind of made things  _ weird,  _ I think, and I’m sorry. I was just-- scared.”

“Swerve.” Starscream said, moving as if he wanted to turn to the minibot. Instead he cast a look over his shoulder at the red-and-white as a healing accelerant salve was applied to the wound, and Swerve wiped his hands off on a cloth. “I don’t mind you showing me affection. I’m not going to  _ reprimand you  _ for liking me, or for showing me that you like me.”

“But-- there’s more.” Swerve said quietly, “I almost shot you and I left-- I left a big scorch mark on the wall, and-- and I spent all your  _ money,”  _  Starscream could hear the desperation slipping into the minibot’s voice, could feel the tremble in his hands as he applied the patch over the wound. “And what have I done for you? _ Fed you your own food _ ?”

Starscream turned, standing and moving to sit down on the couch next to the bartender, who was working meticulously to pack the medical kit together exactly the way he had found it. He watched as the medkit was packed up and then set on the table in front of them, then the minibot got up to throw away what he had used. After he had, he turned and looked at the seeker with a bright visor that sparked every so often.

“I heard on the news that on Velocitron, people like me-- mechs with heavy, big frames-- they’re treated like pariahs. They don’t even show them on their broadcasts. They treat people like me like… like  _ freaks  _ on Velocitron.” He began, looking like he wanted to pace as his fingers took up their nervous tangling in front of him, “And I thought about it for like, a  _ while,  _ and I couldn’t shake the feeling that people were gonna look at that and look at us and realise that something is just not right. They’re going to look at us and say, ‘something’s off’. And then everything--  _ everything between us  _ will be over.” 

“Swerve,” Starscream started, but he was cut off, because Swerve moved to the closet at the corner of the hall, out of sight, and returned with a broom, talking all the while. 

“So like. I was thinking, if I’m doing things to make you not like me and there are just  _ environmental  _ reasons for you not to like me, why would you ever like me, you know? Why would this ever occur? What would ever make what’s going on between us, you know, this-- this whole, conjunx thing? Why would that ever happen? Outside of our circumstances, the ones we’re in now-- if this were  _ real,  _ would you do something like this? Is it in character for you? Is it believable?” Swerve rambled as he swept up the shards of glass from the shattered door, always moving, always busy; “And I came to the conclusion that it’s  _ not,  _ it’s not believable that someone as utterly gorgeous and smart and successful as you would like such a big failure as me, you know? And that’s-- that’s why I’m afraid someone’s going to say something. They’ll see the same thing, and they’ll  _ say something.” _

“Swerve.” Starscream said, this time standing up and moving to the minibot’s side, appropriating his broom and putting a hand on his shoulder. “You need to calm down. You’re panicking.”

“Is that what this is?” He asked, looking up at the seeker and rubbing his fingers together in front of himself.

“Yes. Come sit with me for a while and calm down. I know it’s hard to believe, but everything will be alright.”

Swerve showed the same kind of reluctance that he had when Starscream told him to hide, but finally acquiesced and followed him to the scorched couch, where the seeker tucked him up against his side, his wing spread out behind the minibot.

“The good part about living in a metal tower is that we can scrub all these scorch marks off. So don’t worry about that. If it bothers you so much, I’ll let  _ you  _ scrub up the one you caused.” Starscream said, mentally trying to track down every worry the minibot had expressed. “You didn’t spend all my money. That was barely a fifth of my savings, and besides  _ replacement windows  _ and  _ booze  _ I don’t have much to spend it on. I’m a mech of few desires besides a shiny thing now and again, and I still have plenty of savings to cover whatever lustrous craving I have next. Alright?”

Swerve nodded into his side, optics flickering from the vid-screen to the seeker slowly. Starscream smiled at him and pet his arm lightly, glad to see the other was at least calming down some, even if his fears weren’t ebbing any. 

“We don’t have to fit together physically to be in a relationship,” Starscream continued after a moment of calm, easy silence, “Knock Out told me that he’s bonded to a mech bigger than he is. It’s considered strange on Velocitron, yes, but we aren’t Velocitronian. It’s rare but not unheard of for Seekers to court and bond with grounders, size be damned.”

“Lastly,” Starscream continued, “While I thoroughly appreciate your compliments, and I agree that I am gorgeous, smart,  _ and _ successful, I refute that you are a failure. You have a doctorate, you survived a war, soon you’ll be opening a bar, you’re friendly and charming and you’re handsome on top of all of that-- And while I admire your vigilance in this matter, I’ll thank you to let me choose what’s in character for me for myself. Alright?”

Slowly, Swerve nodded, and after a while, relaxed into Starscream’s side, muttering quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Starscream said over the quiet hum of the vid screen, “I forgive you.”

They sat together for a while until Swerve succumbed to the drowsiness that always took him after an episode of panic and began to doze against the seeker’s side. Starscream vacillated for a few moments longer before gently nudging the minibot, who startled awake with a gasp. The seeker cocked his head as Swerve came back to himself looking sheepish, turning his attention to Starscream with a noise of inquiry. 

“I think I want you to sleep in my room from now on.” Starscream said quietly, ducking his head as he did when he spoke of matters that required keeping to the strictest confidences. “Would you be terribly opposed?”

Swerve was still a moment, and then shrugged. “Windblade already thinks we do, and if someone else tries to break in… if I come out of another room, it could be risky.” He decided. “As long as you don’t mind, I’m game.”

Starscream nodded, moving to rise. “Then I believe it’s time we retired. Work comes early in the morning.”

Swerve followed him, shutting off the vid screen and tossing the remote onto the couch. He watched as Starscream worked at a panel high up on the hall wall before a storm shutter came down over the windowpane that was missing it’s glass, blocking off entry. He offered Swerve a smile, and together they moved to the room at the far end of the hall. 

Swerve was taken aback the moment he stepped into the room; it was beautiful, and fitting for someone like Starscream. Thick windows made up the majority of the circular room, giving an amazing view of the glowing cityscape of Metroplex. To one side of the titan’s mass in the view stood a tall, ornate, floor length mirror hemmed in gold. Next to it was a rack with several crowns and a cape hanging on it, which Swerve’s eyes stopped on. To the left side of the room was a bank of shelves with various books and datapads and knick knacks lining it, and to the right side was a wide berth with a small table next to it. On the table was a spherical control console. 

It was overall tasteful and much less ornate than he was expecting, speaking greatly of Starscream’s curious, intellectual side. The minibot slid his optics over to the rack of crowns again, and tilted his helm, pointing. “What are those?”

“Hn? Oh.” Starscream twisted to see what he was pointing at, his wings flicking in a way Swerve couldn’t identify through the fog of sleep. “I  _ did  _ say I liked shiny things.”

“Why don’t you wear that stuff more often?” He asked curiously. Starscream turned and looked at him, done with his task, and huffed.

“People hate me enough as it is. You’d think letting me indulge in some simple pleasures would kill them. It’s not like I’m asking them to kiss my pedes and throw rose petals when I walk by. Just a simple  _ your majesty  _ now and again is all I asked for.” He grumbled, moving towards the berth. Swerve did his best to parse the response before smiling sleepily, following the seeker and watching as blankets were sorted and shifted across the top of the berth.

“I wouldn’t mind calling you your majesty, if it would make you happy.” Swerve said, smiling at the seeker sleepily. Starscream whirled on him, ready to rebuke him for poking fun, but was surprised to find nothing but open honesty on the minibots face. It was such an outlier to the norm that it left Starscream reeling, finger extended and jaw hanging open.

“Uh,” He said, turning away from the minibot and doing something with the blankets just to look busy. Swerve watched him the whole time. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Okay.” Swerve agreed, watching as studiously as he could in his drowsy state as Starscream climbed into the berth and settled his wings, covering them in a particular way. He soon followed suit, lifting himself into the berth and curling into a ball facing Starscream.

“Good night, Swerve.” Starscream said, turning the lights to a low incandescent glow from his HUD and settling into the soft berth clothes around him.

“Good night,” Swerve said, hugging his pillow and blinking up at Starscream’s face as his systems began to initiate recharge, “Your majesty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've noticed that ao3 really kills the nice pretty formatting i have set up in the google doc of this fic and im so so sorry y'all gotta deal with this ugly mess honestly. thank you for reading and have a good weekend. 
> 
> ps: starscream totally did send in that report i promise i just forgot to add it in sgdhfgj


	7. Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Family, Friends, and Enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's thursday and i have absolutely no chill. 
> 
> NEXT WEEK IS MY FAVORITE CHAPTER... Stay tuned (eye emoji)

Swindle didn’t like change. 

For a few years, things had been the same now, and that was very perfectly alright with Swindle contrary to popular belief. He was a mech of simple tastes, really; good engex, good company, somewhere dry to lay his head come recharge, a shower now and then, and a lockbox full of shanix in his subspace in case things went south. He’d had all of those things for an impressive streak of time, and he was perfectly happy to let that streak continue on it’s merry way.

But things were  _ changing.  _

His company--  _ Blurr _ \-- was upset. And upset company made for bad company.

“He’s doing this  _ specifically  _ to spite me,” Blurr mumbled to him one evening, refilling his flagon in a way that could only be described as angrily and glaring over his shoulder at something. Swindle blinked owlishly and turned, following the autobot’s gaze to where three patrons were making a racket in their usual booth. He squinted at the gathering, then turned back to the racer-turned-bartender.

“You mean  _ Waspinator?  _ What’s he done now?” the grifter asked, bringing his stein to his lips to take a swig. Blurr looked at him like he was speaking Acanti and slapped the pitcher of Swindle’s particular favorite blend of engex onto the table incredulously. 

“No,  _ not Waspinator!” _ He snapped, and from behind him Swindle heard the bug give an inquisitive buzz at the calling of his name, the hubbub he and the Tankors were making quieting suddenly. Blurr waved the three of them off, turning his attention back to Swindle as he snatched the cloth off his hip to wipe up the engex that had splashed out of the jug. “I’m talking about  _ Starscream.” _

“Enlighten me, I’m-- I’m failing to follow your logic.” Swindle said, giving the other a look that was a cross between skeptical and amused, “I thought things were, you know,  _ better  _ recently. Less… crazy, now that he’s getting laid.”

Blurr huffed, sneering. “Yeah,  _ sure _ . He was biding his time, that’s all. He’s mad that I won’t let him in my bar and so he--  _ he--!” _

Swindle followed Blurr’s finger to where it was pointed at the vid screen mounted on the far wall, squinting to read the lower third of the ICS news report. After a moment, he straightened back up, looking confused.  “He opened his own bar?”

“Worse. He bought one for his  _ minibot conjunx.” _ Blurr groaned, flopping his head into a cradle of his arms on the bar in front of the combaticon. “He’s  _ stealing my customers!  _ First the explosion, and now this-- He’s behind  _ all of this!” _

“Okay, now  _ you  _ sound like Starscream.” Swindle said, pointing an accusing finger at the athlete even as he took another sip from his mug. “Even  _ Windblade  _ said that the explosion was a leftover from that gunk of Shockwave’s. And it’s the middle of the day, the middle of a  _ work day.  _ Only us unemployed losers are here right now anyway.”

“No. No. You’re good with numbers,  _ look at this. _ ” He said, turning and shuffling under the bar before bringing up a datapad, slapping it on the counter in front of the tan mech. He powered it on and put in his password, but obscured Swindle’s vision for just a moment longer while he pointed an incriminating finger at the mech. “You keep quiet about this, Swindle, or I will  _ hunt you down.  _ The only reason I’m showing you is because I trust you. Don’t make me regret it.”

Swindle nodded hastily, sitting up straighter, and made a serious expression as Blurr moved his hand. He shoved his stoup to the side and slid the datapad closer, taking a long moment to observe the sudden downward trickle of revenue starting exactly a month prior. He double checked the numbers, frowning his business frown as he offered the datapad back to the racer who positively quivered with angst. 

“I see it,” the businessmech confirmed with a sigh. “You’re right.”

“I don’t know why they’re  _ staying gone,  _ though! What does he have that I don’t? My bar’s  _ great!  _ Live music, good prices, homey atmosphere, we’ve--” Blurr leaned in conspiratorially, a frantic note in his voice, “This bar has been here through like,  _ three apocalypse-level events!” _

“My advice is wait them out.” Swindle offered, “Once they realised that whatever that minibot has is nothing compared to you, they’ll come running back fighting for their regular booths.” 

There was a long moment of silence between them before Blurr sighed, offering Swindle a half-smile. “I guess you’re right. Thanks, Swin.”

Swindle nodded and put on his best smile, flicking his fingers out away from his glass showily and ignoring the way his spark hummed in delight. “Anytime, pal.”

* * *

 

The door to Starscream's office locked with a soft beep of confirmation. He felt his anxiety lessen with the thought of being alone and secure for even a short time, and with a sigh he stepped toward his desk and the bank of windows behind it. He sat down into his chair and turned to regard the afternoon bustle of Metroplex idly, fingers drumming a dull rhythm on the desktop as he contemplated how to escape his next duty futilely. 

After a reluctant moment he turned towards the holoconsole on his desk and followed the instructions Wheeljack had written for making calls through the space bridge. He didn't allow himself time to falter, simply typing in the comm frequency and sitting back as the vid comm clicked on, framing him and the backdrop of tall windows in the corner of the display as it attempted to make the connection. 

Just when he began to doubt he’d be answered, the connection was made, and he was met with the staunch faceplates of his trinemate, who looked back at him silently. They traded long looks at one another before either spoke.

“Thundercracker,” Starscream greeted with a tentative dip of his helm. The blue mech’s wings twitched high on his back.

“Starscream,” he replied, his arms crossed over his chest. Behind him, Skywarp wandered into frame. “I thought I made it clear we needed more time before we came to a decision?”

“You did.” Starscream said, dipping his helm again, his wings low on his back, “And I can respect that. But that’s not-- This isn't  _ about _ that.”

“Then what's it about?” Skywarp asked from where he propped himself against the blue seeker’s shoulder. Starscream straightened, reaching to the side to grab a datapad, holding it in his lap.

“You might be aware that earthbound Cybertronians will soon be getting a daily news broadcast from the Iacon Communication System here.” Starscream began, looking from Thundercracker to Skywarp and then back. “I believe you have the right to know one particular bit of news from me, personally, before you should learn about it from there.”

“Go ahead, then.” Thundercracker nodded,  leaning back in his chair and regarding Starscream with a skeptical look that would have had him disgruntled on any other occasion, had he not been so nervous. Skywarp mimicked the blue seeker’s nod, peering at the screen with vicious curiosity that was easy to read from the cant of his wings and the look on his face. Starscream vented deeply and squared his shoulders.

“I have recently entered into a pre-bond,” he announced, flicking his optics down to the datapad in his hands and scrolling through the headlines of the past month to bring up a picture of Swerve in front of his bar, holding it up for the two to see, “His name is Swerve. He’s a bartender. We’ve been seeing each other for a while, and recently took the steps necessary to make things serious.”

Thundercracker spluttered, unable to produce an adequate reaction to the straightforward announcement as Skywarp’s arm flickered out of reality, causing him to lose his balance and crash into his brother before clattering to the floor dramatically. Starscream watched as the blue seeker floundered and the black seeker flailed for a few moments longer, before Skywarp rose up, apparently managing to get a handle on his warp drive.

“What  _ is it _ with you two and  _ minibots?! _ ” he yelled, pointing an accusing finger from Starscream to Thundercracker and then back again. The ruler made a confused expression as the writer growled, smacking at his hyperactive roommate in the side lightly. Skywarp continued unfazed. “Is it some kind of  _ disease!?  _ Am  _ I  _ next?!”

“Skywarp!” Thundercracker shouted, affronted, “Would you  _ shut up _ about that already?”

For a moment they stared at each other, and then Skywarp shuffled out of frame and returned with a chair, sitting on it and pointedly ignoring Thundercracker's gaze. A moment passed before the author turned his optics back to the screen.

“This is a joke, right? You're kidding?” He asked softly, his voice filled with suspicion. Starscream shook his head, shaking the datapad awake again. 

“The bar in this article was my opening act for the ritus.” he explained. “He hasn't made a reply yet, but it’s only been a few weeks.”

“So when do we get to meet him?” Thundercracker replied, “We might be having a spat but we’re still trinemates, after all, and it’s our responsibility to make sure this mech’s going to treat you right.”

Next to him, Skywarp nodded, his face serious. “It’s practically our  _ job. _ ” He opined, appraising Starscream critically, “So, we absolutely  _ have _ to meet him and make sure he one hundred percent knows what will happen if he hurts you.”

Starscream laughed softly, leaning forward to intertwine his fingers and rest his helm on them, regarding the both of them with optics full of emotion. “You sound like my Amica, the  _ both _ of you. Planning to take him out to lunch and read him the riot act?”

Thundercracker blinked owlishly as the purple seeker beside him nodded, unfazed yet again. “Absolutely right.”

The author looked between Skywarp and Starscream so quickly it looked as if he was shaking his helm to some unasked question, optics bright and wings canted high on his back in surprise. “Amica? He has an-- You have an  _ Amica! _ Since when? Who?!” he demanded.

“You know him,” Starscream began, reaching over to one of the two small holoprojector pictures he kept on his desk, pressing the button on the side to reveal an image of he and Wheeljack the day they'd made their status as Amica Endura official. “Wheeljack. He… We’re close. He’s good to me.”

Thundercracker’s wings lowered slowly, and he sat back in his chair, once again crossing his arms across his cockpit. He and Skywarp regarded Starscream with similar looks, matching smirks on their faces. The emperor heard his wings click as they lowered on their hinges. 

“Wow, Starscream. We have one argument, go our separate ways for a couple years, and suddenly you haul off and make friends? After how many millenia? ” Thundercracker said, and Starscream’s gaze fell as he thumbed the tiny projector dejectedly. After a moment, the author spoke up again. “I’m proud of you. You're doing good for yourself.”

“I sometimes find myself… doubting the lengths I’ve gone for power and success, when having friends has made me so much happier.” He admitted slowly, smiling softly, unable to meet either of their optics. 

“I think the fact that you can say that means you're doing okay.” Skywarp said matter-of-factly after a moment of uncomfortable silence had passed between the three, “I think it means you're getting better as, like, a person. And that's good.”

They sat together in terse silence, three reticent individuals who wouldn't know how to express themselves if their lives depended on it. Starscream was just about to make some excuse to leave when, suddenly, Skywarp perked back up, catching the attention of both Thundercracker  _ and  _ Starscream.

“So I’ve been meaning to ask since you showed us that article about him-- Swerve can’t come up much past your knee, right?” Skywarp asked quickly, and before Thundercracker could turn his alarmed expression into alarmed action, he continued, “ So how do you two frag if he's so small? It’s gotta be like,  _ way awkward _ , right?”

Starscream withered, attempting not to let the very small amount of humor the comment brought him show on his face as he reached forward and grazed the button to disconnect.

“ _ Goodbye,  _ Skywarp.” he sighed, receiving a flustered farewell from Thundercracker over the sound of Skywarp’s whining.

* * *

 

Starscream looked up from where he was reviewing the day’s reports when the lift opened, admitting Swerve into the penthouse. He smiled at the minibot. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks,” Swerve said, smiling back as he moved towards the kitchen, “Did you eat?”

“I did. It was wonderful, as usual. You’re thoroughly spoiling regular food for me.” The seeker said with humor in his voice as he scrolled through the manifest in his lap.

“Good, then I’m doing my job!” Swerve laughed, emerging from the kitchen with his own plate.  He moved around the couch to settle on the far end, where he wouldn’t disturb the stack of datapads or the seeker as he ate.

“How was work?” Starscream asked idly, briefly glancing toward the minibot before looking back down at his work. He watched Swerve grin out of the corner of his optic.

“Great! You should see it in there!” He exclaimed excitedly, “I never hoped it’d get so popular, not with Maccadam’s open!”

“I told you, you’re charming and your drinks are great, to say nothing of your food.” the seeker assured with a gentle smile, “You shouldn’t doubt yourself so much.”

Swerve fell slowly silent, pooling his hands in his lap and pushing at the remains of his dinner with his fork occasionally. For a few long moments it went unnoticed as the bartender stewed in his own thoughts, before he spoke up again. 

“I guess I’m just not used to… to having someone tell me I’m doing alright.” He said, laughing nervously. Starscream turned and looked at him, optic ridges furrowed, but before he could say anything, Swerve spoke again, “Everyone around me just pointed out what they didn’t like about me, so that’s all I can think about, you know?”

Starscream looked down, then offered the other a half-smile. “That’s a lot more relevant to me than you might think.” 

Swerve looked over at him, optic ridges knitting together in concern over his visor. Starscream stared, unfocused, into his own lap for a long moment, before he was ripped from his introspection by the holo-console chiming with an incoming call. Shaking his helm, he stood up and walked to the console, checking the frequency and groaning, his wings falling on his back.

“Doesn’t he know what time it is?” He groaned, dismissing the display and moving to sit back down. Swerve set his plate down and regarded the distressed seeker with concern.

“Who is it?” He asked, moving toward the console. Starscream’s wings hiked up briefly, then settled down on his back as he looked at Swerve as if he was going to object. The bartender looked from the seeker to the console, squinting at the comm frequency before tilting his helm and frowning. 

“That’s the Lost Light’s frequency. Who’s calling you from…?” He asked, trailing off. Starscream looked away when Swerve tried to meet his gaze. 

“Megatron.” the seeker answered, voice bitter.

“I thought you hated each other?” Swerve asked slowly. Starscream gestured flippantly. 

“We do, but he  _ insists  _ on calling me. He won’t leave me alone. I swear, if he weren’t on that damn boat he’d be  _ stalking me.”  _ Starscream snapped as the comm died down, then started to ring again with the same frequency, earning a vehement frown from the minibot. “I don’t even know how he got my home frequency. I’ve changed it twice.”

Swerve’s face screwed up further in anger, and he turned, accepting the comm before Starscream could protest. He could see the seeker’s reflection in the window, wings held tight and tense with agitation. The video initialized, and Megatron’s face appeared before him, at first an unimpressed affectation that quickly gave way to surprise.

_ “Swerve?” _ Megatron asked, looking confused, and for a moment he peered off-screen. It occurred to the minibot he was probably checking the frequency he’d dialed, but even the humor he found in the situation couldn't wipe the scowl from his faceplates.

“What do you  _ want?”  _ he demanded, his voice harsh. Megatron reset his vocalizer awkwardly.

“I wanted to talk to Starscream.” he clarified, tone picking up a strange sort of edge, “This  _ is _ his comm frequency, after all.”

“You  _ want _ to talk to Starscream, hm? That's funny. That's-- you know. That's hilarious. Cause I  _ want _ my belongings and I  _ wanted  _ to be on the Lost Light. I  _ want  _ Ten and I  _ want  _ my bar and I  _ wanted  _ to enjoy a peaceful dinner but, funny, I don't seem to have any of those things.” Swerve bit out, visor bright. Megatron’s mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before he shut it, the minibot glaring daggers into the despot's helm. After a moment, Megatron squared his shoulders.

“It's  _ important. _ A matter of Cybertronian security.” he tried,  raising his hands in a manner that was probably meant to be placating. Swerve bristled. 

“Then  _ call his office!” _ he snapped. Megatron’s face went from awkward to angry. 

“It's a time sensitive matter!” The warlord insisted, his posture suddenly changing, “It's  _ hilarious _ that Starscream has to resort to hiring _ minibots _ to protect him now. Could he find no-one else willing to defend him?”

“He shouldn't need  _ defense _ if it's a business call,” Swerve began, then pointed a finger at the screen, “And he can fight his own battles! He doesn't need anyone to do anything for him!  _ You _ interrupted  _ my  _ dinner! Now you've got three seconds to name one good reason why I shouldn't block your frequency and be done with you.”

Megatron sneered, pinching his nasal ridge tightly, and when he brought his hand away to speak, Swerve interrupted him. 

“Time’s up. Route any  _ business calls _ through the Citadel at Metroplex. Don't call  _ here _ again.” he said, voice flat, before reaching up and ending the call, taking a few moments to block the frequency before turning to where Starscream sat. The seeker’s wings were high on his back, and he trembled with barely contained laughter. 

“His face,” Starscream wheezed from behind a hand, finally beginning to titter freely, “It's been ages since I’ve seen him so mad!”

Swerve looked down, frowning. “Yeah. Sorry. It's probably just going to make things worse for you…”

“Are you kidding?” Starscream snorted, “That was  _ more  _ than worth it!”

“I guess,” Swerve shrugged, sliding back onto the couch slowly. The seeker took a moment to compose himself before looking over at the minibot, a kind smile on his faceplates.

“You know,” He began, “It was brave of you to stand up for me--  _ and _ for yourself. I’m proud of you.”

The bartender flustered, chuckling nervously and mumbling incoherently for a few moments before grabbing up his plate and heading towards the kitchen, face flushed and spark gripped with something he was reluctant to put a name to.

* * *

 

Swindle’s vents left him in little spiraling puffs of steam in the chilly night air. Behind him, Maccadam’s thumped away with something just shy of it's usual business, the music nothing but a dull hum in his audials.

He scanned through his list of contacts on his communicator, selecting a handful and connecting, after a few moments, into a conference call with those he'd chosen. Despite being alone, in the darkness of night behind the bar where none would see or hear him, he put on his best showroom smile.

“Boys! It’s Swindle.” he said cheerily. “I’ve got a favor to ask you. How would you feel about setting me up some  _ fireworks _ ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IF YOU'RE WONDERING WHAT THUNDERCRACKER WAS SAYING THEY NEEDED MORE TIME TO MAKE A DECISION ABOUT starscream was like " hey come live with me" (did i mention this was a canon divergent fic?) and that's why starscream's house has so many empty rooms. Only upon rereading the chapter did i notice that was sort of nebulous but i couldn't figure out how to put it in without it ruining what little flow i had achieved for the chapter SO....
> 
> OTL anyway thank you for reading!!! feel free to point out any glaring mistakes. have a good weekend, folks.


	8. Chosen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the most wonderful time of the year!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time! Happy thursday, beautiful people.

The nighttime air of the entertainment district was thoroughly chilled, lights from the various establishments spilling through the space and illuminating the sidewalks. Starscream hesitated as he approached the corner, rubbing his arms while he stood and stared at the bright red neon glyphs spelling out the name of his make-believe lover’s bar. The lawn furniture was all turned neatly aside, waiting for warmer weather, and around the awning were lines of white and red lights that twinkled back and forth. The seeker took a moment to simply observe, to listen to the muffled music and enjoy the strange homey aesthetic Swerve had created, before finally steeling himself and stepping forward along the path, leaving footprints in the dusting of fallen firn. Reaching the door with his anxiety knotting tightly within him, his wings low on his back, he paused for a moment to center himself and run through his contingency for this sort of situation. 

He was there out of necessity, when it came down to it; He needed to keep up appearances with Swerve in the public eye.  He expected to be ridiculed even here to a certain extent, glared at and ostracized even if he wasn’t directly singled out and demonized. He was surprised that he found a small comfort in the idea that the minibot would most likely enforce some form of congeniality among his patrons in regards to his presence. Regardless, he visualized his move across the bar to safer spaces near the bartender. With an obstinate refusal to be cowed any longer, the seeker squared his shoulders, swiped a hand over the access panel and stepped inside, his optics kept to the floor with feigned disinterest. Immediately, a clatter came from behind the bar, though over the din of the room it was almost impossible to hear. 

“Starscream!” He heard Swerve’s voice call out as he pulled his thermal cloak from his shoulders, barely fighting off his urge to wince. Familiar footsteps approached as the sound suddenly ebbed from the room, and then as one, all the occupants echoed, “ _ Starscream!” _

He looked up owlishly into a sea of co-workers and arms-length associates, all cheering his name and toasting his arrival gaily. Feeling more than a little confused, he raised his hand and waved back as Swerve grabbed his other servo gently.

“I’m so glad you made it, come on!” The minibot exclaimed, tugging lightly on blue digits in an attempt to guide his faux-conjunx toward the bar, “Wheeljack saved you a seat at his table up at the front.”

Starscream ambled after the smaller mech numbly, optics roving over the assembled mass of patrons who either paid him no mind or raised their glasses in greeting to him as he passed. Swerve was babbling about something sweetly as they reached the bar and he ducked behind it, swinging himself up on his arms to come closer to the seeker’s face. He shook his head slightly to clear the fog from it and offered the other a gentle smile.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” He asked, and from his higher vantage point he could see Swerve kicking his legs.

“I just think this is really cool, that you did this!” The minibot exclaimed, “The humans have a lot of holidays around now, actually. It’s like, the whole month is just parties for them or something.”

“I thought it was a good idea,” The seeker admitted, “and the calendar looked bare…”

“Well, I mean, you were right. Look how happy everyone is! After your announcement went out, people were  _ reserving booths  _ to come celebrate here tonight. How wild is that?” The bartender asked, plopping down onto his pedes and moving over towards the screens set into the bar that showed his order list. Starscream followed him, stepping past an empty bar stool where someone had stepped away to keep track of the smaller mech. Swerve continued after a moment, “I had to turn people  _ down.  _ Besides the spot we saved for you, this place has been filled to code for  _ hours  _ already!”

The emperor smiled uncertainly, casting a glance back at the room full of patrons before returning his gaze back to the red-and-white. “Did they know I was going to be here?”

“If they thought  _ I  _ was going to be here, away from my Conjunx on a day about spending time with people you love, they’re pretty dumb, huh?” Swerve reasoned, not pausing in his shaking of a cocktail, “I mean, your name is even  _ on the lease.  _ It’s ignorant to think you’d be anywhere else, really.”

Slowly, Starscream nodded, watching the quick way Swerve’s hands moved over each of the glasses he worked with before depositing each of them with a server drone to be delivered to different tables. Wiping his hands off, and then the counter, he grinned up at the seeker. “Well, go on! My next break isn’t for about an hour. Wheeljack’s right over there. Go order a drink and relax, and I’ll come talk to you soon, okay?”

Starscream gave another slow nod before turning in the direction Swerve had pointed, optics almost immediately picking Wheeljack’s flashing audials out of the crowd. With no small amount of trepidation he made his way towards his amica, helm ducked. A few arm’s lengths from the table, Wheeljack caught sight of him and perked up, waving in invitation towards a seat next to him in the booth. The seeker stepped closer, but hesitated as he took in the handful of patrons accompanying the scientist.

To Wheeljack’s left, Ironhide nursed a pint of something dark and steaming, speaking quietly to Chromia as she mulled over a hand of playing cards. Windblade was perched comfortably between her Conjunx and Ironhide scrutinizing her own hand a little more closely than was probably necessarily as she sipped her own drink. After a moment of quiet banter over their game, Ironhide seemed to recognize Starscream had drawn up to their booth. He straightened up minutely and tucked his helm, raising his mug in the seeker’s direction in greeting.

“Starscream,” He said in his gravelly tenor, optics flicking up to the crown still sitting on the seeker’s helm briefly before flicking back down to his face, “Nice a’ you ta’ join us.”

“I was… held up.” the seeker explained haltingly, beginning to work out the math involved in lowering himself into the pit-like circular booth that was set into the floor.

“Well, you're here now and that's what counts. Get settled and we’ll deal you in next hand.” Wheeljack opined, flashing his own hand of holomatter cards at the emperor and offering him a servo to hold onto as he maneuvered his way into his seat. The seeker took the offered support from his Amica with an anxious squeeze, awkwardly working his way into his seat step by step, until he noticed Windblade watching him with a syrupy sort of smile that spoke of her inebriation. He fell still, one knee braced against the edge of the table, his leg having halted its descent when his suspicion began to rise.

“ _ What?”  _ Starscream asked, wings slowly hiking up with a soft ruffle of metal on fabric as they slid against the booth cushioning, “What are you  _ staring at? _ ”

Windblade jolted, flushing and rubbing at her face as Starscream realized he was still holding Wheeljack’s hand and promptly let go, sinking into his seat properly. 

“Nothing!” the Camien placated quickly, eyes fixed on her drink, before peeking back up to what amounted to her boss almost  _ shyly _ , her optics sparkling with mischief. “I just didn't know you were still doing the whole crown and cape thing, is all.”

Starscream bristled, face screwing up as he reached up and nearly yanked the coronet off his helm, dropping it into his subspace. “I suppose I’m  _ not. _ ”

“Th-that’s not what I--” the emissary spluttered weakly, watching bereftly as Starscream snatched up the menu datapad and busied himself with selecting a beverage and ignoring any talk of crowns or capes. After several long minutes of Chromia and Ironhide continuing to talk about bladed weaponry and battle tactics over the muttered lingo of their card game, the big red mech sat back with a satisfied smile.

“Ya’ know, this is nice.” He opined suddenly, causing the others to look at him with various expressions over their hands, all different shades of curiosity. “This whole day's been great. Everybody ah’ talked to today’s been happier than a scraplet in a hot spot. Ah' ain't seen hide nor hare of a bad mood since at least this time yesterday.”

“You know,” Windblade began, kicking out her legs and stretching her back, putting her cards down “I think you might be right. I haven't seen anybody causing problems either. I think this was a really great idea, a nice casual holiday about celebrating one another?” She dipped her head in Starscream's direction briefly, crediting him. He straightened up at the attention, and his wings bobbed on his back quickly in a show of sedate appreciation for being noticed.

“I didn't think it would go over quite this well, to be honest.” the seeker all but mumbled into his cup, “I was surprised not to get more complaints.”

Wheeljack’s winglets flicked up in interest. “Somebody  _ complained  _ about a holiday like this??” At Starscream’s slow nod, he knit his optical ridges and did his best approximation of a frown. “ _ Who?” _

“Can't say,” Starscream sighed, making a slow, flippant gesture with the hand not holding his mug of spiced energon. “It doesn't really matter, though, I haven't seen them here so that means they're probably off pouting about it.”

“Well, whoever it is is a  _ moron.  _ This is great. Ya’ did good, Star.” Wheeljack said, pointing a finger at the seeker in some strange approximation of an accusatory supportive gesture. Starscream offered him a smile as the rest of the table chimed in with their agreement. He puffed up subtly, pleased at the recognition, and with an unfamiliar sense of conviviality they returned to quietly passing the time together with cards, drink, and comfortable conversation.

Hands were played and discarded with only the holographic representation of false credits being exchanged between the five of them. Before long had passed, a murmur of mild discontent filtered through the bar, causing Starscream to look up and retake his surroundings. A light behind the bar had gone out and Swerve was fording a stream of serving drones with caution, a tray balanced on his hand, his body angled toward the seeker’s table.  Starscream directed his attention back towards their game long enough to lay down his hand and rake in his winnings, and when the digital chips had been added to his total he looked up to see red pedes stilling at the edge of the booth behind Windblade and Chromia.

“Hey,” The minibot greeted with a grin, shuffling around until he was standing at Starscream’s shoulder instead, “Room for one more?”

“I’m sure something can be arranged,” Starscream said, his lips quirking into a smile.  Swerve smiled back and adjusted his grip on the tray he held as the table swelled with the noise of greetings, and Ironhide cracked a toothy grin as he leaned toward the minibot.

“Bring us somethin’ good?” He asked slyly, reaching a hand out to the other in an offer to take the tray from him. The minibot accepted, his grin blossoming again with a decidedly more sheepish edge to it as he leaned forward and handed the platter to the taller mech carefully. Ironhide took it and set it on the table, which caused the occupants of the booth besides Starscream to lean forward and observe the contents with interest. 

“Just some snacks,” he said with a shrug. Six drinks-- refills for everyone at the table and a drink for the bartender himself- were placed around a plate of pastries and cookies that were still warm. Wheeljack sat back and watched as the serving drones reached their destinations all around the bar carrying similar trays with them. Beside him, Starscream offered the minibot a hand in much the same way the scientist had offered one to him. Swerve took it, but hesitated as he sat down on the rim of the booth.

“I don't think there's enough room for me,” he said, hanging a pede down over the edge. Starscream frowned, looking around the minibot's pedes to better gauge the space he had. If the bartender had dropped his other leg, it would have been nearly touching Ironhide. 

“Maybe if we all scoot a little closer...” Windblade started slowly, frowning and shuffling closer to Chromia, who curled an arm around the flyer's shoulders in a move that looked reflexive. Starscream waved them off with an affect of nonchalance. 

“There's no need,” he said, squeezing Swerve’s hand gently and smiling at him slyly, “He can sit on my lap.”

For a moment everything seemed to still at the table; everyone was silent and watching Starscream, who was watching the tiny red grounder fondly. Swerve flushed at the idea, his face highlighted a soft pinkish color, but finally conceded after a moment of kicking his leg and drumming his fingers on his leg. Starscream’s smile widened a bit at getting his way, and he released the minibot's hand to wrap his arm around his back and tug him closer. Swerve came over easily, and with a fluid move the emperor pulled him from the lip of the booth to his lap, where he sat nervously for a long moment before relaxing, his flank pressed into Starscream’s chest.

“Much better.” the seeker all but purred. For a beat longer, things stood still at the booth, before Chromia leaned forward to grab a cookie off the plate, earning a swat from Windblade. Swerve laughed from where he sat with one leg pulled up across Starscream’s lap and his arms braced on the tabletop casually.

“It’s fine, they’re for everyone to snack on,” He announced, reaching for one himself. With a little coordination the refilled drinks were passed around to their appropriate drinkers and snacks were obtained. There was a flood of compliments to Swerve’s baking ability as they noshed, and he grinned a big pleased grin as the conversation and the accompanying card-game began to pick back up. The minibot took a moment to look up at the seeker, squinting at him from behind his visor. 

“Where’s your crown at?” he asked sternly, “Did someone say something?”

Starscream blinked down at him, surprised at the fierceness in his voice, then looked back at his drink with an expression of feigned ignorance. “What? No. It… got uncomfortable.”

“That’s a shame.” Swerve said as he relaxed once again and munched on a pastry, “It made you look so handsome. I mean, more than usual.”

Across from them, Windblade covered her mouth with her hand and leaned against Chromia, her gaze averted from the two. Starscream lowered his mug, slipping his fingers around the girth of the minibot’s ankle, his nimble digits squeezing at the joint there as he leaned forward to toss a handful of virtual chips into the pot.

“How are your pedes?” Starscream asked, quietly massaging the surreptitious ache that was blooming in the soles of the minibot’s feet.  Swerve managed to avoid the question for a few moments by studiously observing Starscream’s hand of cards, before the seeker set them face-down, baffling his attempts to subtly divert attention away from himself. Foiled, he ducked his helm and knotted his fingers idly.

“Fine,” he lied plainly, which earned an expectant look from the seeker. He wriggled gamely, flexing his pedes. “No, really! They're fine. Maybe a little sore, but--”

“Ah, so you won't mind if I rub them a bit for you?” Starscream asked coyly as he continued to do just that, his capable digits easily working out the ache from the minibot’s substructure. Swerve tugged the ped the seeker held in a careful attempt to free it from the ministrations. 

“You don't have to bother,” the grounder insisted, his volume rising in distress as his counterpart persisted gamely.  The noise attracted the attention of anyone at the table who wasn’t already watching-- namely Ironhide-- and the casual glances of a few patrons from the next table over. 

‘It’s no bother, though.” countered the seeker just as insistently, attempting to meet the smaller mech’s optics despite his visor and the fact that Swerve seemed intent to avoid looking at him at all costs.  The minibot seemed to wither, his hands pooling over his chest half-tangled together, and he looked up at Starscream pathetically. 

“You’ll-- you'll get your hands dirty,” he whined in a way that made it very clear he was out of arguments otherwise. The Emperor blinked owlishly, then snorted softly, working out a tangled wire beneath the minibot’s plating that had the smaller mech shoving the heel of his palm into his own face and grunting.

“I have done _a_ _lot worse_ than giving massages to cute minibots to get my hands dirty in my lifetime,” the larger mech assured. Swerve pointed directly into his face, giving a half-heartedly stern expression.

“This is  _ cheating.”  _ he groaned, once again falling prey to the clever fingers of an ever more clever seeker wiping out a hard millennia of war and work from his substructure very, very quickly. “I can't think straight like this.”

“All’s fair,” Starscream purred. Suddenly across the table there was a thump, drawing the attention of both the seeker and the minibot-- and the rest of the booth’s occupants with helms that swiveled from one red flier to the other-- to Windblade.

Chromia was holding both their drinks out and away from her conjunx, eyeing her suspiciously from over the rim of her mug. Windblade was face down on the table, her arms over her head like she was an organic seeking shelter in an earthquake. Glances were exchanged as the blue femme finished off the rest of her original mug and exchanged it for her refill, then set both drinks down directly in front of herself. She reached over and slapped Windblade on the back between the wings casually.

“You’ll be fine.” opined the taller femme, causing the hoverjet to whine piteously from the cover of her own arms.

“I don't get how you don't see it,” the delegate cried, “They're practically cuter than anything I’ve ever  _ seen!” _

Wheeljack stood up and leaned over Windblade to swipe up her glass, sniffing it with about as much caution as he did anything. He grimaced, eyeing the concoction and then the Camian herself. “How many of these have you  _ had?” _

“I dunno,” she mumbled into the tabletop, “Two I think.”

“Try, like, five.” Chromia muttered in response, tugging at the back of the Cityspeaker’s collar fairing. “Sit up, you're making a scene.”

Wings folding over, the darker femme sat up and flopped over against her Conjunx’s side, and was quickly embraced by a strong blue arm. Before the intoxicated flier could wrap her digits around another glass, the bike presented her with one of the mineral rich pastries from the plate in the center of the table. Without prompting, Windblade began to nosh with the sort of tired cheer only found in a drunken person. For a moment, Chromia watched her with a withering look, before leaning forward to brace her chin in her unoccupied servo.

“The things I do for love,” she sighed, almost playfully, earning a snort from Ironhide. She side-eyed him,  _ hard _ , and he stuck his hands in the air in self defense. After a moment of tense staring between the two,  _ Wheeljack  _ guffawed, and his laughter seemed to infect Starscream and Swerve at the same time. Ironhide chuckled outright in turn, and Windblade, who had no idea what was going on but was caught up in the mood tittered sleepily against her bodyguard’s side, leaving a stubborn and stone-faced Chromia at a table of snickering mecha. She wavered once, and then her facade crumbled and she grinned in spite of herself, cracking up at some unspoken joke between the six of them. 

Eventually, their cachinnation wound down to a scattering of chuffs, leaving in its wake a warm and comfortable silence. Between them, things were good-- at least for the time being. It was not meant to last, however, and from his spot reclining against Starscream, Swerve perked up and reached for his drink.

“My break’s over,” He announced. The seeker beneath him made a disappointed sound as the minibot slammed back the rest of his drink and wiped his mouth on the back of his arm in what was probably the least graceful maneuver in the known universe. He set both of his big red servos on the table and began to push himself up, heedless of the flier’s protests and his stubbornly tightening grip. “I gotta get back to work, people need drinks.”

“But you practically just  _ got here, _ ” Starscream complained, pouting dramatically as Swerve extricated himself from the emperor’s embrace, “Surely you can afford to linger awhile longer? It  _ is _ a holiday.”

“Yeah, and on holidays people wanna get drunk, which is where I come in. I’ll have another break later.” he demurred. Despite the sounds of agreement that rose up from everyone still coherent at the table when the seeker protested, the minibot shook his head and slid up onto the lip of the booth in a mirror of his pose before, one leg bent and one left hanging. He demanded the empty cups, gathering several to each hand as he rose, then paused, seeming to contemplate something before he spoke again, this time directly to his beau. 

“...Although if you're really that attached, I think I could use some help getting some supplies down from the higher shelves in the back…” he trailed off, looking away as if unsure whether or not to ask directly for the seeker’s help. After a moment, he shook his helm and waved one mug-clad fist at the gathering, standing and turning towards the bar. “You know, don't worry about it. I’ll just use a stepladder.”

Starscream, blindsided, blinked into his tankard, then turned his head to Swerve, then to Wheeljack on the opposite side of him as if looking for guidance. The scientist gestured theatrically at the seeker, ushering him to get up and go after his intended, and Starscream suddenly scrambled to drain his mug and rise to his feet.

“Coming,” He called over his shoulder, struggling to free himself from the confines of the booth awkwardly, inhibited by the haze of inebriation. He left the sounds of laughter behind him as he shuffled awkwardly toward the bar, wings sagged low on his back in a curious sort of comfort. Swerve was already racking glasses and dishes into a sanitizer, ridding himself of the several large tubs of dishes that had been bussed from the various tables by serving drones in his absence. He watched the minibot work industriously for a moment before flicking his wings forward and back in greeting, leaning on the counter and catching the smaller mech’s attention.

“So did you really need help, or was it just a ploy so you could spend more time with me?” he asked quietly when the bartender sauntered over to him, finished with his task and wiping his hands on a cloth. Swerve smiled a  playful smile and ducked under the bar flap with ease, squeezing past the seeker’s legs. He magnetted the cloth to his hip, turning on his heel to beckon the taller mech, who followed him wordlessly towards the right hand side of the bar. Two booths framed the doorway to what was literally labeled  _ 'the back’ _ with a plaque that hung over the entrance. Starscream stopped to gape at its strangeness, but his minibot escort continued forward unbidden and hung an immediate left into the dry storage. 

Startled, the seeker sort of rushed forward to catch up, and stepped into a room that was lined and filled with shelves that reached the ceiling, above even his own head. Soft twinkling strip lights were tied up to the edges of the shelves, casting just enough of a lambent glow that turning on the main overhead light wasn't necessary. Starscream cast about in the dim luster briefly before catching the gleam of Swerve’s visor around the corner of the shelving unit in the center of the room. The minibot was standing on top a stepladder, knotting his finger together nervously-- which was a sure sign he wanted to talk. Cautiously, the seeker approached.

“You decorated your storage room, too?” He purred, stepping up close and leaning against the shelf well within the personal space of the fumbling red-and-white, who grinned sheepishly.

“I bought too many lights,” he offered with a shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. He leaned in like he was ready to tell the taller mech a great secret, and from this close Starscream could make out his optics flickering towards the doorway nervously. “You remember, we talked about um-- our  _ relationship?  _ And the um, kissing, part? You said-- 'maybe where one or two people might see it’. And I was thinking all day, this probably counts, right?”

Swerve rocked nervously, and beneath him the ladder rattled,  uneven on it's legs. The minibot wobbled, and reflexively the seeker reached out and braced a hand on the wall behind the minibot, who was just a little shorter than him while standing on the flimsy thing, effectively trapping the bartender in place. Swerve could feel his face heat, and figured his helm must have been one uniform shade of red by now; the fact that Starscream was simply staring at him wasn't helping, and he turned his face away, placing a hand over the Emperor's arm. He did his best to ignore how close the taller mech was, clearing his vocalizer. “I mean, if you think it's a bad idea, that's fine too! I just didn't want to, you know, waste an opportunity or anything.”

“Swerve,” Starscream began, wrapping the arm that had been braced against the wall around the minibot's waist and gently taking hold of his chin with his spare hand, nudging the grounder to look back towards him. He smiled fondly at the other, pressing their forehelms together and trying to find the shorter mech’s optics through his now overbright visor. “If you wanted a kiss, you could have just  _ asked _ .” 

Swerve’s face flushed brightly and his field seemed alive with nervous excited energy that practically crackled in the air around them. His vents quickened and his servos trembled where they pressed against Starscream’s shoulders, not pushing him away but not quite pulling him in, and his face read of blatant anxiety. He seemed unable to look away from the seeker, from his dark optics that flickered back and forth across his own hot faceplates patiently. He swallowed, hard, and offered a choked excuse of, “I-I’ve never--”

“Do you  _ want to _ ?” asked the flier, rubbing soothing circles into plating of Swerve’s back with his thumb. Things stood still between them for a moment before tentatively, hesitantly, the minibot nodded. The seeker’s smile deepened, and he brushed the thumb of the hand still tucked under his partner’s chin over the bartender’s lips.

“Don't be nervous,” he assured, his voice little more than a honeyed whisper, “After all, _I_ _chose_ _you._ ”

The hitch of Swerve's breath was swallowed up by the press of their mouths, soft and slow. For a few lingering moments it was just pressure, a touch shared between them, and then the seeker moved and the minibot matched him and they were lost together in the fevered slide of lips and tongue. Swerve grappled with him, now definitely clinging and pulling him closer in a desperate attempt to get  _ more _ . Maybe things weren't going perfect, because his lips were scarred and cracked and Starscream’s mouth tasted like highgrade and cookies, but it was happening and that had to count for  _ something  _ and the bartender didn't want it to end, ever.

Which meant, obviously, that it was going to end immediately.

On the opposite end of the shelving unit that stood in the center of the room there was a gasp, and then a crash, and what sounded suspiciously like a giggle. The noise startled the bartender enough that he yanked away from their tangle, peering over the seeker’s shoulder, craning his neck to try and spot the disturbance.

“ _ Windblade _ ?!” he cried, releasing Starscream and taking a step back with his servos up, like he had been caught murdering another mech. He spluttered uselessly and wobbled in place once more as the seeker in question casually tossed a look over his shoulder to the intruder. Windblade was on her aft, having fallen backwards into another bank of shelves, and was covering her mouth with her hands-- most likely to hide a grin, if the rest of her face was any indication.

“Do you  _ mind _ ?” The seeker sighed, tugging Swerve closer by the waist until they were pressed chest to chest. The minibot laid one hand alongside the emperor’s cockpit and pressed the side of the other, balled into a fist, against his mouth. Impossibly, his blush had brightened, and Starscream could feel the faint radiant heat spilling from his face and neck. “We're trying to celebrate a holiday.” 

Windblade scrambled to her feet, a giggling and uncoordinated mess of limbs and apologies, quickly absconding with only a small mess of fallen supplies, a mortified bartender, and a ruined first kiss left trailing in her wake. Over the din of the bar, Starscream heard her shout, “ _ Chromia! I was  _ **_right_ ** _! They were  _ **_totally_ ** _ making out!”  _

Swerve’s helm hit his cockpit with a thunk, face hot, and Starscream made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

If the minibot’s lips were a little more swollen and his grins more genuine than usual when they emerged a comfortable handful of minutes later, he planned to blame it-- and the rosy tint of his cheeks-- on holiday cheer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things to note: the way this is different from canon is that in this, starscream actually proposed Chosen One Day as a holiday for appreciating one another on purpose, as sort of a publicity stunt. As usual, point out any major mistakes to me!!


	9. Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What goes up must come down.

Swerve was in _deep._

That is to say, he was pining. It had been long enough that he was no longer in denial-- he couldn't pretend that the empty longing he felt was actually just a weird late-onset reaction to the medication he'd been given by the hospital that only seemed to flare up when he thought about the Emperor of Cybertron. He had gone through the cycle of want and rejection enough to _know_ what it felt like to pine. He had guaranteed himself he wouldn't fall for Starscream, that he could control himself and be reasonable, that not every mech that showed him a shred of kindness was _the one_.  

But Swerve had never been very good at keeping promises, and now he was in the worst situation he could possibly think to be in; A pretend relationship, doomed to fail before it had even begun with a beautiful, powerful, successful seeker who probably would have never spared him a second glance if things hadn't worked out exactly the way they had.  He was more than aware they wouldn't work together if it were real, that he had no chance. It was the cause of more than a few sleepless nights, to be sure, and the reason he'd taken the liberty he had at the bar.

 _That_ was a whole problem unto itself; the idea that Starscream hadn't considered that it wasn't for show-- the idea that Swerve had lied and said that was all it was. He had lied to Starscream, _used_ him. The guilt had festered in his spark and choked him until he could feel nothing but anxiety and shame when he was away from the seeker, which was only masked by his affection when he was curled up on the taller mech’s berth at night. He needed to apologize, and he was determined that he was going to and he was going to do it right. He had a plan in place; he had picked a day, written an apology, created contingencies. Fretted and worried and planned, planned, planned.

He had decided that it was time-- that today was the day!-- and everything had been going perfectly! Until Starscream had nearly face-planted into his breakfast with an exasperated groan and announced that they would be going to a party that night. Swerve had been thrown off by the disparity of the situation, but gone along with it anyway because that seemed to be easier for Starscream overall. That meant his plans to confess took a back burner in the grand scheme of the evening. He still planned to, he assured himself that afternoon as he stood checking the integrity of his finish, he just had to wait until they were out of the public eye.

As they approached the Citadel later that evening and anxiety threatened to choke the life out of the minibot, he was relatively sure his resolve to spill his guts was crushed under the weight of the sheer idea of how thoroughly scrutinized he would be tonight. Starscream lead him by the hand, unashamed and unhindered by his stature or character. Swerve was unused to such blatant disregard of his flaws.

The sun was setting, spreading pinkish rays across the sky. They glinted through the sides of the glass elevator as it rose, casting the seeker in a rouge halo that complimented his paint in subtle ways and made the fluttering in the bartender’s spark take a distinctly different direction. His face twisted in anxiety and for a brief moment, his grip on Starscream’s hand tightened. The emperor looked down on him, self-assured smile in place, and squeezed his hand.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said, running his thumb over Swerve’s knuckles in a way that made him bite down on the inside of his lip. If the taller mech noticed, it didn’t stop him from continuing; “You’ll do great.”

The lift stopped, and Swerve heaved a great vent to prepare himself for the evening, then threw on his best smile.

“Right,” He murmured, and then with a little more conviction, he said, “I trust you.”

Starscream smiled at him-- it was a softer kind of smile than before-- and then turned his attention back to the doors as they opened. They stepped into the room and were swallowed up in the pulse of the music and the press of so many fields buzzing against their own. It took no time for Starscream to glide into his element and begin working the room with the same graceful ease he did most things, and in watching it Swerve was once again struck with his fortune at knowing him, in however small a way he did.

Together they wandered around the perimeter of the room, chatting with tall and imposing mechanisms of unique, beautiful, and exotic design. Swerve was introduced to each, and reactions varied, though thankfully before he was presented to any Velocitronians, he had a drink in which he could bury his face and disregard their looks.

The worst of those looks had come from Override, who’d tapped her finger against her glass and given the both of them the most disgusted look her beautiful face could probably be warped by. The minibot could practically feel her optics flicker over his frame dismissively before returning to their scrying gaze in her cocktail, and his anxiety was only matched by his humiliation. Starscream thankfully wasn't inclined to suffer her sneering presence longer than necessary, and with a supportive hand on his cowl steered the minibot toward calmer waters.

He got to meet the big blue hulking Conjunx of Knock Out, who seemed just as nervous as he was even if he had the bluster of physical force to protect his feelings. Break Down had an affectionate arm wrapped around his smaller lover’s waist, his thumb rubbing up and down the edge of the doctor’s abdominal vents. Swerve did his best not to stare at them, did his best not to feel jealous of how happy they were-- because Knock Out was beyond thrilled to be with the big mech, it seemed.

“We're taking a break from dancing,” Knock Out had offered casually between sips of his drink, something sweet and thick that spiraled a pretty nebula of blue and gold in his tall glass. The minibot looked away, over toward where two Devisens were dancing together in an area clear of tables, then down into the remnants of his drink as Starscream continued to make idle conversation with them. Above him, Knock Out and his taciturn conjunx made their excuses and waded back out onto the dance floor, leaving the seeker and the bartender to take their place as wallflowers.  In all the time they'd been socializing, Starscream’s hand hadn’t left the grounder’s cowl, and Swerve wasn't sure if the contact made him feel better or worse. Silence fell between them for a while, both nursing their drinks in a lull of communication that wasn't quite companionable but wasn't exactly hostile, either.

“Is something wrong?” Starscream asked after they'd spent a few minutes in silence together, the minibot’s optics on the dancefloor. A few seconds passed, Swerve seeming to consider the question and how to answer it, before the seeker continued, “Do you want to dance?”

“We… can't.” Swerve said, but it came out more like a question as he looked up at the taller mech. The seeker looked at him, curious. “I mean-- the whole, height difference thing kind of gets in the way, right?”

Starscream scoffed, tossing his head at the thought but then directed that gorgeous smile at him again, optics twinkling in the low light. In a firm voice, he asked, “Swerve, would you like to dance?”

The minibot gnawed on his lip and waffled for a beat before slowly nodding, reluctant to burden the seeker-- reluctant to tell the truth and dig himself deeper into his grave. Starscream switched his glass from his right hand to his left, stooped slightly, and took the bartender’s unoccupied servo in his own, angling himself out toward the dancefloor.

“Then we’ll dance.” He announced.

“With drinks?” Swerve asked, laughing and doing his best to keep his still mostly- full drink from sloshing over onto his knuckles.

“Yes.” Starscream answered,  nodding as they waded into the crowd of dancers. As they neared the center, still hand in-hand, the seeker stopped and started casting about for something the minibot couldn’t figure. “It’s doable. Now just… give me a moment.”

After a second, he seemed to see what he needed, and guided Swerve further into the swarm until they came clear out the other side, in a sea of tall tables and chairs. With absolutely no regard for the fact that the table was covered in the remnants of someone’s occupation, Starscream grabbed a chair and drug it towards the corner of the dancefloor, gesturing to it triumphantly.

“And _here_ is the solution to our height difference.” He announced, “Up you get.”

“You want me to dance on a _chair_ ?” Swerve asked, huffing another quiet laugh. Starscream nodded again, unphased, and after a moment the minibot shrugged and clambered up with the seeker’s help just in time for a new song to start playing. The emperor wasted no time in settling his hands on his shorter companion’s hips, quickly beginning to sway his own to the beat of the song. The bartender had never danced with someone before, but he found it was a lot easier and less awkward to grasp than kissing was; copying the seeker’s moves as best he could from his perch wasn’t so hard, and when Starscream eased his arms up around his neck, the hardest thing about the encounter was making sure he didn’t slosh his drink-- a bad attempt at an _Iacon Sunrise--_ down the flier’s back. Concentrating on that kept his self-consciousness in check pretty handily, too, so everything was going well.

Starscream seemed to be enjoying himself, pressed chest-to-chest with the minibot and moving back and forth endlessly to the bassy thump of the speakers. Even in the low lights he looked regal, _gorgeous,_ and Swerve faltered, losing time to the music as the fluttery feeling took over his spark again. The seeker noticed, looking down at him with lambent optics and cocking his helm. He watched as the minibot brought his glass closer with shaking hands and took a sip of his drink, smirking slightly.

“You seem preoccupied,” He purred, thumbing over Swerve’s hip. The minibot swallowed, almost audibly, and Starscream pressed on, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“You-- You don’t want to know.” The bartender murmured with a quiet laugh. He took another swig of his cocktail, just to have a reason not to say anything else; it was getting tacky and too thick to be pleasant to drink any longer.

“Don’t be like that,” the seeker tutted gently, “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Swerve gnawed on his lip for a moment before leaning forward, “It’s not really a conversation to have here, if you know what I mean?”

“Now you’ve got me curious,” Starscream said, though his voice was lower, “Please? You’re obviously bothered.”

The minibot sighed, letting the seeker guide his movements more than making them on his own now, his hand slipping off the flier’s shoulder to cradle his half-full glass between them.

“I think,” He began with a sigh, raking his dentae over his lip in a nervous gesture, his optics flicking down, then up, then back down into his sloshing drink. He was aware of his face heating unpleasantly, unrelated to the high-grade. “I think I... I think I’m…” and then he gestured vaguely.

“You’re what?” Starscream asked, craning his neck to bring his audial closer to the minibot’s voice. Swerve was only vaguely aware of the seeker’s movements slowing, no longer matching the beat of the music.

“I think I’m…” He heaved a long vent, looked over the emperor’s shoulder since he could no longer see his face and whispered, “ _I think I’m falling for you.”_

The taller mech pulled back suddenly, looking owlish with his wings high and tight in surprise on his back, and, in a movement almost too quick to track, smacked the bottom of the minibot’s glass up towards his face. The sticky remnants of his cocktail flew upwards and coated the mechanisms of the bartenders visor and face, and in his surprise _he_ reared backwards and sent himself and the chair toppling to the floor with a loud crash.

Starscream immediately bent as if to help him but by that time, Override had caught sight of the minibot curled up on his side on the floor and had already started laughing derisively. In practically no time flat, her mirth had spread to what seemed to be all the other patrons on the dancefloor. Swerve sat up, shards of his busted glass falling from his hand, and scrubbed at his visor with the heel of his palm. He climbed awkwardly to his feet and quivered in angst, and the seeker couldn’t tear his eyes off of him, off the way his helm snapped back and forth to the crowd around him as if in fear.

All at once, he was aware that he had made a terrible, _terrible_ mistake.

The minibot was soaked, regardless of how much had been in his cup, and bluish glops of the sticky mix dripped from his faceplates, which were now canted downward in abject humiliation. He choked on an invent as he pawed at his face, and finally managed to smear the mix off his visor in a streak so he could look up at the seeker, whose wings immediately clicked down in shame and guilt at the sight.

“Starscream,” the minibot choked out, voice barely audible over the din of laughter around him. His visor sparked, and he jerked minutely. “How could you _do_ _this_ to me?”

The lord’s jaw worked, and he clenched his own cup close to his chest uselessly. In the silence between them each hard splatter of the sticky engex against the floor as it dripped off the bartender’s faceplates or was flung off his hands struck Starscream like a lightning bolt to the spark, and when he finally managed to direct his gaze back to Swerve’s face, the sensation worsened with a sudden revelation;

It wasn’t just _engex_ dripping.

“You’re no better than _they_ were,” The minibot breathed, stumbling backwards a few steps. His optics remained locked on Starscream's for just a moment longer, his face betrayed, before he turned and pushed his way through the crowd. Starscream looked down at the shards of Swerve’s cup and the overturned chair in a daze, distantly aware of Wheeljack pushing his way through the crowd from the opposite direction Swerve had gone.

The scientist kicked the glass over until it was under a table, righted the chair, then pulled his Amica aside, shifting his weight as if suddenly tired. “What the frag was that?”

“What?” The seeker asked, shaking his helm slightly as if only just now snapping back into reality. The rest of the crowd had dispersed back to their carousing, leaving the two mostly undisturbed at the edge of the space cleared for dancing. The shorter mechs words settled in his processor and he shook his head again, gesturing weakly, “I-It was an _accident.”_

“Did ya’ tell him that?” The white mech asked, glancing at Starscream skeptically. Starscream shook his head a third time, because he felt like that was the only thing he could do. He didn’t understand why any of that had just happened. “Usually when you tell people things are accidents they don’t run away crying.”

“I didn’t-- I didn’t have _time,_ ” the taller mech said, “ I couldn’t think. I _panicked.”_

“Alright, well.” Wheeljack heaved a sigh, casting a glance out at the sea of bodies who now were uninterested in their little pocket of the room now that there wasn’t a mech to make fun of, “Go make whatever excuses ya’ need ta’ cause we’re gonna gonna go find him and you’re gonna apologize.”

Starscream’s wings trembled, he cast a glance out into the room, then shook his head for the final time. “Let’s go find my Conjunx.”

A bad feeling was bothering Starscream as he flew in concentric circles around the citadel, searching for any sign of his room-mate. Swirling in his spark with his guilt was an anxious sort of apprehension. Swerve had not gone back home, according to the security readout on the seeker’s HUD; none of the doors had opened. His home was untouched.

Wheeljack was checking alleyways and places blocked from overhead view, and Starscream was searching from the skies for any sign of red and white plating. Their search had offered them little results, and as the minutes turned to hours Starscream’s anxiety began to tighten its grip on him in sickening ways.

“ _You alright_ ?” Wheeljack asked over a comm, and the jet sent a wordless ping back to him, distracted by his own grief. The scientist made a noise. “ _Ahhh, don’t go closin' up on me, Star’. Everything’s gonna work out, I promise_.”

“ _You can't promise that,”_ Starscream insisted quietly, gliding between two tall buildings and frowning when the red minibot he'd spotted was certainly not the red minibot he was looking for.

“ _Sure I can. Have some faith in me, yeah?”_ came the reply. After a moment, Starscream sighed through his vents.

“ _You’re right. I’ll try. I’m sorry.”_ he said. Before he could say more, he was startled by a brilliant burst of light blinding the sensors of his alt mode. He tried to angle himself towards the source, barely registering Wheeljack's expletives, but was thrown into a sickening tumble by a shockwave of heat, and right on it’s tail was the audial-splitting sound of the problem: a thunderous explosion. Starscream oriented in space, angling himself towards what was now a fire belching thick, black smoke into the night sky, and shot off in that direction, the apprehensive feeling coiling into a hot coal of dread that sat heavy within him.

“ _Can you see what the hell that was?”_ Wheeljack asked, tailing him gamely through the streets. Starscream databurst him a few image captures of the view as it could be seen from above and pushed forward, triangulating the location as best he could through the smog. He didn't want to believe the guesses he had, but he soon transformed and landed heavily amongst a pack of first responders battling the fire with heavy-duty fuel suppressants. He turned in a circle, and his frame sagged.

 _Swerve's_ was destroyed.

Wheeljack pulled up a few car-lengths behind him and transformed, stooping to pick up a piece of debris in both hands. Turning it over revealed it to be a chunk of the sign from over the door, and with a tight look at the seeker, the scientist peered into the blaze and lowered his winglets.

“Maybe…” the white mech began, watching the tealish shimmer of the smoke, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy. Did I mention this story is a Drama? 
> 
> I feel as thought I need to clarify: When Swerve says, "You're not better than they were", 'they' is referring to the crew of the Lost Light. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also don't mind me but the song they dance to is Le Disko by Shiny Toy Guns. (i know it doesn't make sense but listen,, i don't care) 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Happy Thursday!


	10. Regret

The lights in Starscream’s apartment were all turned down low, the only real source of illumination this late at night coming from the vid screen. The lord himself was curled up on the couch, watching blearily as the commercials ended and the late night news resumed. Circuit appeared, sitting at his desk, and behind him superimposed on a green screen was a picture of Swerve, cut from the opening ceremony of his bar.

“Welcome back. If you’re just joining us tonight, the search continues for Swerve of Ibex, the proprietor of  _ Swerve’s _ , a popular bar in downtown Metroplex’s entertainment district. Three days ago the establishment exploded late into the evening. Due to the heat of the blaze response crews and investigators were unable to determine if anyone was present inside the building at the time of the fire.” The anchormech announced. “There are no leads in the search for the missing minibot. If you or anyone you know has any information on where he might be, you are urged to contact the authorities immediately. A reward  _ is _ being offered.”

The camera angle switched, and Circuit continued in another vein. “After intensive review of the evidence they  _ have  _ been able to collect, a panel of criminal investigators from Metroplex, Caminus, and Velocitron believe the explosion and subsequent fire to be an act of arson. The main suspect in the case, Blurr of Iacon-- of Ibex Cup fame, and the proprietor of Maccadam’s Old Oil House in the business plaza-- has been taken into custody pending the outcome of further investigation. The ICS has obtained the most damning piece of evidence thus far for broadcast, take a look.”

Circuit angled his body in the vague direction of the box behind him on the green screen, which had been updating with images relevant to what he was saying. It quickly took up the whole screen, showing a junction of streets darkened by night but lit by the glow of signs from surrounding buildings. Front and center was Swerve's, itself dark all but for the pale glow cast by the engex canisters mounted behind the bar.  After a moment of nothing happening but mechs and femmes meandering around in the streets, as was common in the entertainment district, a literal blue blur swept in from out of frame and moved immediately up to the closed bar. Blurr-- because there was only one Cybertronian alive who moved like that, really, and in bipedal mode he looked nothing like a Velocitronian-- peered into each window for a few moments before darting around the back and out of frame. The video continued with nothing interesting happening for several long seconds before Blurr sped out from the opposite side of the bar, leaving the frame again. The time-stamp in the corner of the security footage sped up by a few dozen minutes, which was also made obvious by the thinning of the crowd as nearby establishments began to shut down for the night, all happening in double time, before things returned to normal.

The street was darker than before, deserted, and still. Suddenly from within Swerve's there was a small burst of light, and then steadily,  _ quickly _ , it seemed to grow brighter and brighter, until the front blew out of the bar with such force the camera was destroyed in a flash of white-black.

“We asked Blurr for an interview, but he declined to comment. Instead, we were able to talk to a handful of his acquaintances to get  _ their _ view on the incident.”

Starscream sighed, tuning the report out as he dialed up Ironhide. The guard captain was quick to pick up as usual, answering with a tired sounding, “ _ Go fer Ironhide.” _

“It’s Starscream,” The seeker began, voice weak, “Have you found anything yet? At all?”

There was a long pause and a rush of static before the red mech replied. “ _ Not a  _ **_damn_ ** _ thing. We got mechs checkin’ every corner 'a the city. If he’s here, we’ll rustle 'im up.” _

“And Blurr?” the emperor pressed, rubbing at his optics to try and combat the drag of exhaustion. 

_ “He’s demandin’ he’s innocent, and if the panel doesn't gather more conclusive evidence against ‘im fer the arson he’ll go free.” _

The only response Starscream could generate was a miserable sigh. Ironhide was silent for another brief moment-- probably directing an underling-- before his voice came through the comm again. “ _ Ya sound more worn than a freighter haulin’ cross the pan-continental. Have ya gotten any sleep since he went missin’?” _

“I-I’ve--” Starscream faltered, unable to muster up a defensive tone. After a moment of trying to hold up some invisible weight in the darkness of his loft, his shoulders slumped and he kept himself from collapsing forward onto his knees by balancing his forehelm on his palms. “No. I’m too worried, I can't-- I can't sleep. Not until I know.”

“ _ Starscream _ ,  _ runnin’ yerself ragged ain’t helpin’  _ **_him_ ** _ and it ain't helpin’ you, neither. We’re gonna do all we can ta’ find 'im, but ya’ need ta’ take care a’ yerself in the meantime.” _

It was Starscream’s turn to hesitate, silence falling over him. He knew the red mech was right and reluctantly, he acquiesced with a soft hum. Ironhide excused himself and terminated the comm so he could get back to work, leaving the lord alone in the unnatural quiet of his home. The flickering light of the vid screen grated on his optics even when he averted his gaze, eventually compelling him to stand and approach the doors to the balcony as he dialed in Wheeljack’s frequency. 

“ _ Star?”  _ the scientist answered, his voice heavy with sleep. Starscream looked in the direction of Wheeljack’s apartment as he spoke.

“Wheeljack, did I wake you?” he said quietly, “I'm sorry. I didn't realize how late it was.”

“ _ Nah, nah. I wasn't sleepin’, I was, uh--” _ there was a distinct shuffling sound from the scientist’s end of the call, before he said, “ _ Doin’ paper work. Sorta.” _

“Oh. Are you are the lab, then?” Starscream asked idly.  Wheeljack snorted a laugh, continuing to make a soft chorus of noise in the background.

“ _ Where else would I be?”  _ he laughed. The humor in his voice made the corners of the seeker’s mouth curl up in a wry smile despite the dread swirling in his spark. “ _ Anyway, did you need somethin’?” _

“I just… I’m sorry. I don't want to be alone.” he explained. Wheeljack made a soft noise of understanding. “It's so quiet here, and the vid screen… it's just making it worse.”

“ _ So you’re just lookin’ for a distraction, then?” _ Wheeljack clarified. Starscream took a moment to really contemplate the question before sighing.

“I suppose so, yes.” There was a long stint of silence between them, then softly, Starscream admitted, “This is my fault…”

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Wheeljack agreed, and the seeker heard the clatter of a tool hitting the scientist’s bench. “ _ But it’s not  _ **_all_ ** _ your fault, which is important ta’ remember.” _

“If I hadn't… if I hadn't panicked like I did, he wouldn't have run away. We'd at least know where he is. The not knowing is…” The flier trailed off. 

_ “Yeah, it’s bad. I understand.”  _ Wheeljack placated gently. Starscream laughed bitterly.

“We lived through how many millennia of  _ war _ , but now three days of uncertainty--  _ one loss--  _ is going to be the death of me.” The seeker huffed wryly, “You'd think I would be used to this sort of thing.”

“ _ Ya shouldn't have ta’ be used ta’ losin’ people, Star. Nobody should.”  _ the scientist opined resolutely. Starscream folded his arms against the high railing of the balcony and settled his helm into them, tired and weary to the core. He was growing uncomfortably accustomed to the weight of his distress pulling at his spark over the lack of his tiny roommate’s noise and bustle in his life. Suddenly, Wheeljack spoke up again, startling him from his thoughts. “ _ Ya’ oughta get some rest. If you're too tired to help ‘im if he needs ya’ when he shows up, what then?” _

_ “ _ I tried,” the lord said, his voice soft and desperate, “I  _ can't. _ Every time I close my eyes, I just see his face and I can't stop thinking-- what if the last thing I did to him before he died was make him cry?”

“ _ That'd be your conscience takin’ one outta ya for bein’ a jerk.” _ Wheeljack sighed, “ _ Ya gotta stop talkin’ like he’s already scrap metal, though.” _

Reluctantly, Starscream moved back into the house, stretching out on the couch and burying his face in his arms. He was quiet for a long, reluctant moment before softly, he asked, “Will you stay on the comm with me while I try to sleep?”

He could almost hear the relief in Wheeljack’s venting, the soft smile in his voice as he flopped into a chair noisily enough to be picked up by his comms. Fondly, the grounder hummed a soft, affirmative, “ _ A’ course.”  _ before comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the occasional sound of the scientist’s work.

* * *

 

Starscream was woken by the sound of the doors to the lift creaking open. Beside him, the news still played on the vid screen, but it's glow was less harsh now that an early dawn light spilled through the tall doors to the balcony. Even aware of a quiet shuffling and the undeniable fact that someone had to have entered, the seeker could barely rouse himself long enough to try and get into a more comfortable position to sleep in than flat on his front with his arms pinned beneath him.

“Whatever you're here for, make it quick,” he sighed, not even bothering to look. “I have a lot of very important things to do, and you're interrupting all of them.”

The shuffling behind him stopped suddenly, and his wings flicked at the strange change in the air he hadn't noticed before. Suddenly the wash of an apologetic EMF hit him, driving him to push up on his arms and twist at the waist to see who was lingering at the foot of the couch. Doing so made him stop and reset his optics, twice.

“Are you mad at me?” Swerve's voice was staticky and raw, but his fingers twisted together in the same nervous way they always seemed to be doing. Starscream practically launched himself at the minibot, pulling him close and cradling him against his larger frame. The grounder squeaked in surprise, arms held out and away as if unsure of what he should be doing with them, before the winged mech huffed a half-sob, and tightened his grip. 

“Swerve, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He said immediately, the vice of his arms crushing as he buried his face in the top of the minibot's helm. Swerve understood finally that Starscream wasn't actively attempting to kill him and gently wrapped the lord in a loose embrace, his fingers barely brushing each other. “I was and  _ idiot _ ! I was so-- so  _ stupid _ and I don't deserve to have you back, I’m so sorry!”

“H-hey?” the bartender's voice was confused as he patted the taller mech, “No, hey. It's okay? Everybody makes mistakes? I uh, was just worried I had ruined things for you, running out like that. Caused an event or something.”

“Primus, no!” Starscream made a noise that could have been considered a laugh, holding Swerve away at arm's length. “We thought you were  _ dead _ ! Your  _ bar _ \-- oh,  _ Swerve _ have you heard?”

The minibot shook his head, and all at once Starscream’s blooming sense of hope was quashed. He must have made a face, he realized, because softly he heard Swerve ask, “My bar?”

The seeker immediately reached over and shut off the vid-screen, then gently took the grounder's hand, which was filthy like most of the rest of him, and lead him to the couch. He scooted over to give the minibot a place to sit, and Swerve slid up onto the couch doing his best not to smear dirt. Starscream took a moment to try and collect his thoughts, still gingerly holding onto Swerve’s hand to fight off his fear that the minibot would disappear if he looked away too long, then looked up into the other’s dim visor. 

“After-- After what I did, at the party. I tried to come after you, but I couldn't find you, anywhere. There was an explosion at the bar. It burned down. I thought that if you had been anywhere, not-- you didn't come  _ here _ , so my next thought was that you were there but Wheeljack said not to run straight there and miss you. They think Blurr did it.” Starscream explained, halting. After a moment, he said softly, “I’m sorry.”

Swerve’s face was full of distress, his grip tightened on the seeker's hand as his visor brightened and he asked in a reedy, concerned tone, “Is Metroplex alright?!” 

Starscream startled, his wings rising on his back in his surprise at the question before he nodded, dumbfounded. “He needs time to recover the environ, but now that it's been cleared as a crime scene, specialists from Caminus are taking care of it. I haven't been-- Windblade knows more.”

The shorter mech relaxed visibly, and the lord watched him in confusion as he looked off into the middle-distance, face a strange sort of passive.

“I thought you'd be more upset,” Starscream admitted with a sort of relieved laugh. The red-and-white offered him a half-shrug and a tentative smile.

“Things could be worse. Metroplex got hurt but, you said it exploded? People could be dead, for all I know.  _ I  _ could have died. I’m sorta just counting my blessings, I think.” He said softly. Before Starscream could respond, the minibot yawned, shoving his free hand into his face to try and stifle the sound and offering a quiet apology when he'd recovered. The seeker shook his helm and stood.

“It’s fine. Let's get you washed off and we can get to bed.” Starscream assured, beckoning the shorter mech to follow him towards the washrack. They entered, and rather quickly the room was filled with steam from the shower as the taller mech helped the grounder scrub himself clean in a comfortable silence. When the solvent runoff turned from a gross blackish color to clear once again, Starscream turned it off and offered Swerve a towel as he stepped aside to make a few calls. He watched, fondly, as the minibot patted himself dry and yawned in evident exhaustion while he called Ironhide and cleared Blurr’s name of murder.

He was quick to make his excuses and step back to Swerve’s side, offering him a fond smile as the mech casually used the towel in his hands to pat Starscream’s shins dry.  He helped to dry off the hard to reach bits of the grounder with meticulous care. When he was done, he tossed the towel into the basket in the corner and together, they headed into the master berthroom. Starscream slid up onto his berth and offered a hand to Swerve, who took it and scooted up in front of the seeker, who had in turn scooted back to fuss at the blankets. Swerve reclined, and Starscream fretted and flitted around a bit more before offering a hopeful expression.

“Comfortable?” he asked quietly, smiling when Swerve nodded. “Good.”

After a moment, he himself laid down, and then hesitantly slid his arms around the minibot, quietly making sure the touch was okay before pressing his cheek into the flat expanse of his cowl.

“I’m so glad you're back,” he said, pulling the little ball of a minibot closer, his back pressed against the seeker’s cockpit,  “I was so worried. I was so… I’m so sorry. Thank you for coming back.”

Swerve slid his hand up and twined his thick fingers with Starscream’s, and the lord heard a noise he knew probably meant was the bartender trying to catch a glimpse of his face despite his cowl. He settled shortly, engine purring in contentment.

“Ask me something hard,” he said softly, voice thick with the pull of sleep, “Anything for you.”

After that, it was quiet in the room as the pair drifted off to sleep together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've officially finished writing Jayus. The ending is bad but it's done and it's mine and I love it anyway. :'D  
> Anyway, thank you all for reading! See you in 2018!


	11. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a truth comes to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm emotionally compromised so y'all get this chapter early!!! hooray.

_Mechs_ , Swindle decided as he stared into his mug of high-grade dejectedly, were simply too complicated for him to understand. He liked to include himself in that generalization, too, because he was not afraid of being frank and honest when the mood rightfully called for such a thing.

It had started with a feeling in his spark, this problem. He had no frame of reference for it, besides an anxious sort of tightness that possessed him. All he really knew about the feeling was that he had the urge to please someone very particular, to earn their attention, and that he felt a strange longing when that mech’s optics were pointed elsewhere.

Blurr was oblivious to his infatuation-- and that was really fine with Swindle, because he wasn't sure he liked the feeling or wanted to share it. There were times when the racer looked at him, when he smiled or laughed or flirted at Swindle like the tan mech was very sure he did with _everyone_ , and those times made the grifter feel that his spark would implode and he would join the well from the strange fluttering his spark would do. He was very glad that nearly every time he and the taller mech interacted, he was drinking. It meant he had an alibi for any flushing done on his part when the speedy mech would wink, give him an approximation of finger-guns around a handful of high grade pitchers, and call the shorter mech his _best customer_.

It had taken long enough figure out that he was in love with the blue blur. Things hadn't had time to seem alright after that revelation before the damnable little minibot had appeared and made Blurr _miserable._ It was only right of Swindle to do something to try and correct the situation, he figured, and it hadn't taken long to eliminate the obstacles lying in the path of the racer’s -- and therefore, Swindle’s-- happiness. The blue bartender had caught flak for Swindle's actions, which was never part of the plan, and for three long days he’d been accused of a murder that hadn't even happened; but then, things seemed to straighten themselves out as they always did, and Blurr was back to mixing drinks for a bustling crowd in Maccadam’s. Everything was how it was supposed to be; everything was _perfect._  

Which was what left Swindle confused, because Blurr was _still angry._

Even freed of prison and the suspicion of his peers, the speedster's mood hadn't improved. It was baffling, to say the least. The grifter couldn't countenance it, couldn't figure what could possibly be bothering the taller mech so much still.  The discomfort and confusion festered within him until finally, as the blue mech refilled his drink with a silent scowl, he felt liquored enough to raise the proverbial white flag and _ask_.

“You seem angry,” Swindle opined as Blurr lingered to clean up that section of the bar. Blue optics blinked owlishly over at the tan mech, astonished by the admission.

“No, _really_ ?” Blurr all but growled, coming closer. He seemed ready to say more, but for some reason he _wasn't_ \-- and it was that tight-lipped snubbing that had the grifter’s plating itching like a bad case of rust.

“I thought I fixed everything. I thought everything was better now. This place is _packed!”_ the shorter mech exclaimed, frowning vehemently. Blurr frowned back, optics sharp and boring holes through the combaticon.

“What did you say?” the racer asked, moving through the countertop door with a focused sort of air, “You _fixed_ things?”

“I fixed _everything!’”_ Swindle insisted desperately, but not loudly enough that anyone else would hear him; despite the burn of alcohol along the cables in his neck, he knew better than to get too loud. “I got rid of your competition! I got you out of trouble! Everything is fine now! Why aren't you happy?”

“ _Swindle_ ,” Blurr began, his voice all well-restrained anger and menace and thinly veiled promise of bodily harm as he took the mech by the arm, yanked him off his stool and drug him into the back room, kicking the door closed.“ _What did you do.”_

“I burned down the bar, Swerve’s!” the con-man admitted, fidgeting in place where the taller mech’s intense gaze kept him pinned to the wall, “I thought it would make things better, a-and it did! I didn't mean for you to get in trouble! Besides, everything is back to normal now and now you're _not_ in trouble so _why aren't you happy?_!”

“Because, _Swindle_ ,” And the way the racer said it made his name sound like the worst kind of putrid insult there was, “I might not be under investigation for _murder_ anymore, but everyone still thinks I burned down the bar and hurt Metroplex. Do you know what it's like to know your friends think you're so petty you'll hurt someone else, you'll destroy someone's life and possibly _kill people_ because of some _popularity issues?_ Do you know what it's like to be thought of as _that self absorbed?_ Of _course_ I’m still upset!!”

Swindle lowered his head for a moment, rubbing his palms together in a nervous gesture before looking back up, dejected. “How do I fix this?” He asked quietly, honestly, “I just want you to be happy.”

Blurr frowned and took him by the arm again, leading him out of the stock room and towards the door. He paused in the threshold and shouted for Slug, who appeared with a mug sporting evidence of having sloshed over its edges. He gave the Dinobot strict orders to activate his FIM and watch the bar with promise of a full business day of free drinks in return, and then he was off in a much tamer form of his signature blue blur, dragging the sloshed jeep behind him.

* * *

 

With little to do to occupy his time while Metroplex recovered, Swerve had decided to watch the process of regeneration closely while Starscream attended once more to his duties. The act of watching the walls grow, a purely Cybertronian sentiment, was interrupted every so often by the minibot stopping to sweep or gently wash down a soot covered section of floor, in the hopes that by the time the new portions of environ grew back he would be done cleaning and polishing the rest of the bar and it would be ready to have furniture brought in once again. Many calls had been made to the group of Camien specialists tasked to his little disaster, asking about medical salves and their effect on the plating of a wounded cityformer, and more often than not Swerve was on his comm with someone while he worked.

Today, that someone happened to be Starscream. The seeker’s schedule was mostly devoid of meetings, allowing him to catch up on paperwork, and in between making some business calls the two seemed to be in constant contact with one another as equilibrium returned to their lives. The calls were mostly idle chatter-- and from Swerve's end, a strange sort of staticky hum they could only attribute to the regenerative processes of the Titan.  The subjects tended to drift, and often were the times they fell into comfortable silence together. Swerve was sweeping up tiny shards of glass from a corner when Starscream shattered one such silence.

“I have to go to Earth soon,” He announced, sounding a confusing mix of confident and resigned, “Optimus Prime’s outpost requires a tour, and there's some diplomatic hoodoo to be done in order to officially recognize it as a cybertronian embassy and not just a bunch of mechs squatting in a field.” for a moment, he paused, and Swerve could make out the distinct sound of a stylus hitting a desk. “Anyway, since I know you like human media so much, are you interested in coming with me?”

Swerve nearly dropped his broom, replying in reedy excitement, “ _Really?”_

“The business aspect of the trip _will_ take several hours, but… yes, really. I promised my trinemates some time ago I would bring you to meet them, and before then maybe you could show me around that city you like so much.” he paused, “...If you want.”

“If I _want?!”_ the grounder crowed, nearly vibrating with excitement, “Do you _even_ _know_ how much fun showing you around New York City would be?! Of course I want to!”

“It's a date, then,” Starscream hummed and Swerve could hear the smile in his voice even over the strange electronic hum that was a constant background in his comm. For a few moments they fell into a comfortable semi-silence, broken only by the sounds of their individual work, before the minibot caught sight of a couple of approaching figures and straightened from his hunch.

“Huh,” he mumbled aloud, only half-way attempting to catch Starscream's attention, “Blurr’s making his way over here, and he's got Swindle with him. He looks kinda mad.”

“Do you want me to call the guard?” The seeker asked seriously, voice filled with tension. Swerve waved a hand even though he knew the emperor couldn't see it.

“No, no… I’ll stay on comm, but let me try handling this first?” he asked quietly as the taller bartender approached, nearly shoving the jeep into the regenerating building in front of him. Swerve offered both of them his best smile as both sides moved towards the middle.

“Sorry, we’re closed for right now.” He said, voice filled with a pleasant sort of cheer as he gestured over his shoulder. “I would’a hung a sign on the door but it got blown away in the fire.”

Behind Swindle, Blurr frowned. “We're not here for drinks.”

“Oh, uh, alright. What can I help you with, then?” the shortest of the three asked. Swindle seemed to wither, as if he was somehow aware of the racer's scowl deepening without having to look behind him.

“Actually, Swindle has something to tell you.” the taller bartender shoved the Combaticon’s shoulder lightly. “Go ahead, Swin’, get on with it.”

For a long moment the jeep waffled, giving a nervous grin to the minibot. Slowly, he made a wide variety of vague gestures and expressions, trailing a single syllable squeak as if he’d forgotten he was starting to speak. He snapped his mouth shut, steepled his fingers, looked from Swerve to Blurr and then back, then grinned placatingly. Then, as if he’d given a very succinct explanation, he said, “I think that about covers it?”

Blurr gave him a flat look, and once more he wilted. Swerve squinted at the taller mech and the way he fidgeted. He smiled gently and asked, “Do you maybe wanna sit down? You look like you don’t feel good. I don’t have any stools, but I have some crates over in the corner?”

Swindle, shocked by the minibot's outward pleasantness, made another half aborted attempt to speak and then quickly stammered, “I burned down your bar!”

The shorter bartender took a very surreptitious half-step backwards, first looking Swindle up and down and then looking up at Blurr’s face. The racer was looking at the back of the jeep’s helm as if a pair of optics had suddenly opened up there and started looking back at him. The combaticon wavered uncertainly, before slowly raising his servos and shoulders until his face was cradled between them in some odd shrug and squeaking, “I’m sorry?”

“Well, I mean, that’s sort of unexpected to hear,” Swerve began, laughing uncertainly. Together the three sort of just existed in the same awkward-tinged space before the minibot asked in a soft, uncertain voice, “Can I ask why?”

A gust of air left the grifter in the form of an exasperated ex-vent as he activated his FIM chip, suddenly coming to the realization that this would need more sobriety than he was currently in possession of. He scrubbed the back of his neck, then rubbed his palms over one another nervously, looking at Blurr who nodded at him in a serious way. There was absolutely no way to weasel out of this and stay in the racer’s good graces.  He looked back towards the minibot uncertainly.

“You… were taking all of Blurr’s business. He was miserable. I… I _had_ to do it.” He explained haltingly, rubbing the joint of one thumb with the pad of the other. Swerve’s visor shown a little brighter, and he slowly nodded, looking again from the jeep to the racer. Swindle saw this and jumped quickly, adding, “Blurr didn’t ask me to do it! I did it on my own!” and then quietly, he said, “I just wanted him to be happy.”

Slowly, the minibot nodded again and rubbed a hand over his mouth, gaze lowering to the floor between them for a few long moments. Things returned to the uncomfortable, awkward way they were before while Swerve seemed to mull things over and Blurr caged the combaticon in using pure annoyance alone. Suddenly, the shorter bartender shrugged, offering both of them a grin that was almost easy.

“I mean, I don’t really mind. I’m more or less just worried about Metroplex, and the guys-- the expert guys said he’s fine, more or less? So… nobody died? Everythings… everything’s okay on my end. No hard feelings?” He looked between the two taller mechs hopefully. “Blurr? Swindle? No hard feelings, yeah?”

Both of them directed a wide-eyed look of disbelief back at him, and without thinking Swindle blurted, “That’s it?”

“I mean, Metroplex is healing. A bar’s a bar. Nobody died. I can set things back up again. I don’t mind, really?” He explained, knotting up his fingers. “I mean, yeah, it’s inconvenient, but it could be worse?”

“You’re not gonna turn me in?” Swindle asked, and for what felt like the hundredth time that night his voice was little more than a squeak. Swerve shook his head, and the Jeep grinned widely, easing back his shoulders as the fear of consequences fell away. Before the relief could really set in, Blurr shoved him again in much the same way he had before.

“Don’t act so happy, you moron!” He reprimanded, “Maybe you’re not going to jail but I’m sure as hell going to make sure you replace the stuff he lost in the fire.”

Swindle’s posture slumped and he looked towards the ground, dejected. Swerve watched nervously as the two taller mechs didn’t look at each other for nearly two whole minutes, before Blurr sighed dramatically and grabbed Swindle’s arm, yanking him around to face the vehement speedster. Navy hands found the black edges of the shorter mech’s chestplate and pulled him closer, until they were nearly nose to nose.

“Next time you want to make me _happy_ , buy me something _shiny!_ Don’t damage people’s wellbeing!

Don’t put _yourself_ at risk of _going to jail!_ ” Blurr demanded, and before Swindle could protest he yanked the tan mech closer, onto the tips of his pedes, and mashed their mouths together. Swerve averted his optics as quickly as he could, and after a moment the blue mech released the jeep back onto his own feet, frowning.  He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, muttered an expletive, and turned without any further ado to take his leave of the bar. Swindle watched him go, his field a mass of prickly shock and bubbly joy, before turning back to where the minibot had stood a moment prior, a clever comment about having to replace his bar on his lips.

He was instead met with an empty room and the distinct feeling of having been alone the whole time.

 


	12. Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hold on to your underwear, folks.

Starscream stood outside one of the interrogation rooms of the prison, watching as Ironhide grilled Swindle about the missing minibot. His wings were canted low on his back, his angst over the situation evident. A specialist was collecting relevant security camera data from around Swerve’s for review, and Wheeljack was on his way from the lab to help support the seeker now that his conjunx was missing for the second time in as many weeks. 

A wicked crushing feeling had taken residence in Starcream’s spark this time around, something he couldn’t shake or find reason for. He leaned against the wall, unable to focus on the happenings in the interrogation room, and rubbed at the near-physical sensation in his chest in a desperate bid to soothe it away. He closed his optics for what he had meant only to be a moment, but was startled back to attention by Ironhide touching his shoulder lightly.

“How did things go?” Starscream asked, unable to truly demand an answer from the captain when he was this close to the case. Ironhide made a face.

“As ya’ might expect, both of ‘em insist they’re innocent.” The shorter mech said with a sigh. “Swindle was closest, ‘n’ he’s sayin’ Swerve just  _ disappeared _ , like I’m supposed ‘ta believe that. We can’t do anythin’ til the techs get done with the camera footage, at least.”

As if on cue, a young mech burst through the double doors at the end of the hall, looking frantic. He slid to a stop in front of the emperor and the captain, looking between them in distress before snapping into a salute, vents heaving. 

“Sirs,” he began, turning and beckoning them to follow down the hall, “You’re going to want to see this.”

“What’d ya find that's got ya so worked up?” Ironhide demanded, following the younger mech with quick pedes a considerably short distance to one of the evidence examination rooms. The three mechs crowded into the small room-- something really only meant for two mehs at most, not three large frames, comprised of a holodisplay work station and a table with an array of tools tacked up behind it. The tech waved a hand to bring up the holodisplay, scooting to footage back just a fraction and looking over his shoulder.

“This is literally seconds after Blurr left the building. Swindle is, I assume, watching him go-- but watch this. Watch Swerve closely.” The younger mech says, flicking the play button. For a few seconds nothing happened, but then Swerve's whole form flickered and disappeared suddenly.

“A holoform. I guess Swindle wasn’t lyin’ after all.” Ironhide opined, “But why would Swerve be runnin’ around in a holoform?”

“And why isn't he answering my comms again?” Starscream asked into the open air of the room. He shuffled out into the hall as Ironhide spoke to the tech, replaying every conversation and interaction he'd had with Swerve since the minibot had come back after the party. He was confused by the idea that he'd been living with a construct for almost half a month without realizing it. 

It didn't take long for Ironhide to step out, sighing into the air. He nodded to Starscream, then beckoned the seeker to follow as he headed back down the hallway. “Gonna need Jack for this. Come on, let's go to a room. Gonna need ya’ to tell me everythin’ ya’ can about Swerve since he came back.”

“You're  _ interrogating me?”   _ Starscream balked, voice rising in his incredulity. Ironhide stopped and turned back to him.

“No. Absolutely not. Door’ll be open an’ ya’ can leave whenever ya’ feel like it. I just need all the facts if ya want me ta find yer conjunx, an’ two weeks goes a lot quicker sittin’ down.”

Starscream’s wings drooped further on his back, and he followed the other wordlessly down the hall and into an interrogation room, the door on which stayed propped open as promised. Half way through the first morning Wheeljack came in and sat down beside Starscream, taking his hand supportively as the seeker related helping Swerve make breakfast to a studious guard captain. 

Two hours later he sat hunched in his chair, finished and very tired of talking and of feeling emotions.  

“The fact that it's a holoform means it's a small area he could be in, right? Those have a limited broadcast range.” the seeker pondered aloud. Beside him, the scientist nodded. 

“Plus, ta’ maintain that level of realness for so long he'd have ta’ be closer-- and since ya’ spoke with ‘im on  _ comm _ and there was interference we can assume he’s holled up somewhere with thick walls-- lots 'a matter for the transmission ta' travel through.”

They were silent a moment, each mulling the predicament over before Ironhide nearly slapped himself in the face in exasperation. “The tunnels! He--” he straightened up, smacked the desk and then pointed across the table at them. “Whaddya wanna bet he’s in the tunnels?”

Starscream watched as Wheeljack rubbed the back of his neck then nodded slowly. “That... sounds about right, yeah. It's somewhere central that he could project ta’ all a’ the city from….And the Citadel  _ is _ almost in the direct center a’ Metroplex.…”

Ironhide pushed his way to his feet, intent to begin ordering a search party, but Starscream halted him by holding out a hand. The captain watched as uncertainty washed over the seeker's face, mingling there with his misery, before hesitantly the lord offered, “I have an idea.”

* * *

 

It was early enough in the morning that the sun had yet to crest the horizon and spread its light across the land when Windblade’s recharge was interrupted by the sharp chirp of her comm. The stillness of sleep was chased from the room as she and Chromia moved together; the bike curled further into the blankets, and Windblade sat up with a groggy noise to paw at her commsuite if only to stop the ringing.

“Hello?” She answered, voice thick with sleep. She heard a quick invent from the other side of the line.

“Windblade. It's early, I’m sorry.” Starscream offered, sounding harrowed. Windblade was instantly more awake.

“It's fine, I was just getting up anyway,” she fibbed, throwing the blankets off her lap and moving towards the tiny washrack attached to her bedroom. Starscream made a relieved noise. “Did you need something?”

“You might be aware that Swerve is missing again,” the seeker began, voice filled with uncertainty, “We've found that there's a high probability he's in the access tunnels somewhere beneath the Citadel, but I was wondering if we could get your help trying to narrow down that search area? My thought was that if he's down there, he would have to have opened doors or hatches and Metroplex would have a log of that.”

Windblade listened raptly, nodding despite knowing the other couldn't see it as Chromia leaned against the door jam, attracted by the light and noise. “I think you're right. We could compare it to the maintenance logs to eliminate accesses that are supposed to be there…” She trailed off for a moment. “I’ll meet you at the Citadel?”

Starscream must have given an affirmative response, because Windblade stood up and began checking herself in the mirror quickly before walking towards the door-- and Chromia. The big femme didn't move, watching the flier for a long time before asking, “You're seriously going to help the guy who literally threatened to kill you?”

Windblade stared back, hard expression on her pretty faceplates and determination radiating through her field. 

“No,” She replied tersely, “I’m going to help  _ Swerve.” _

* * *

 

Metroplex’s Brain was a great and unnerving sight to Starscream on any regular day. The constant reminder that he worked and lived on, in, and around a massive living being was unwelcome, to be honest, and it was even worse when he was this emotionally compromised. His discomfort had skyrocketed the moment he stepped into the subterranean chamber housing the titan’s processor. 

It hadn't gone down at all as he continued to watch Windblade sort through alerts and alarms at a rapid pace, as the light on the giant brain pulsed and popped and rippled through spectrums and gradients before flashing.  The smaller jet looked between two holodisplays, comparing data, before laughing and hanging her head, a smile on her face. It took a moment for her to disconnect from the interface, but when she did she seemed upbeat. 

“Good news,” she breathed, smiling up at the emperor in almost excitement. She databurst a series of numbers and letters to him, which he recognized,  _ vaguely _ , as location deep within the bowels of the underground. “I have an  _ exact _ location. Metroplex said someone came in near the right timeframe and just… sat down against a bulkhead.”

Starscream puffed up in some sort of unidentifiable emotion, staring at her in open-mouthed shock before spinning on his heel and making for the door. Wheeljack grabbed for him but failed to stop his march toward the closest access hatch-- instead he was halted by a strong red arm blocking his path. His gaze followed the limb up to Ironhide’s face, which was filled with stern defiance.

“Yer not gonna like me, but I can't let ya go down there ‘ta do this.” He declared. Before Starscream could speak of his outrage, he continued. “This is still police business. I know how much ya’ wanna get him back, but you’ll just end up complicatin’ things. We ain't just a bunch a' survivors squattin’ in ruins anymore, Star. We gotta have  _ order _ , 'specially if ya’ want us 'ta save lives.”  Then he paused, his voice softened, and he asked, “Do ya’ even know where that junction is?”

Starscream reared back, only vaguely aware of Wheeljack stepping into place beside him. He was silent for a few moments before Ironhide spoke again, voice filled with a hesitant determination.

“This ain't the war. Y’ aren't alone anymore. Ya’ got all sorts a’ good people ‘round ya’ who wanna help, so stand back an’ let ‘em.”

For a few moments the seeker was frozen in place as he and the veteran shared an optical contact that was uncomfortably long; Windblade stepped up beside the captain as if to support his claim, and threw the taller flier a smile that was supposed to be reassuring as Wheeljack laid a hand on his arm. For a moment, Starscream wavered, but then stepped back from the door with a nod.

“Alright,” He ceded quietly, looking away and clenching his fists. “Just bring him back.”

With little more than a nod and a smile, Ironhide turned and was gone, leaving Starscream to pin the sum total of his hopes to the receding red backplates of someone else for the first time in what felt like eons.

* * *

 

The loft felt distinctly empty without the presence of the minibot in it; Starscream stared into the dim lounge, all too aware of the crushing anxiety in his spark as Wheeljack gently pushed passed him and entered the kitchen. The shorter mech returned a few moments later with two cubes, detouring to put one down on the coffee table before coming back towards the seeker and pressing the other cube into his hand, herding him towards the couch.

The lord simply allowed his amica to pull him down onto the plush surface of the couch as he fought to keep something inside of himself from crumbling. The realization that Swerve had been alone, in the dark and cramped access tunnels, without food or a berth or company for nearly two weeks was setting in and filling him with all sorts of dreadful  _ feelings _ .

“Starscream,” Wheeljack said, setting aside his cube again as he laid a servo across the seeker’s arm gently, “You're  _ shaking. _ You can relax. They have him at the hospital. They'll  _ call you _ when you can see him.”

The taller mech looked down into his cube of energon and saw the ripples caused by his trembling. For a long moment, as he contemplated his amica’s words and tried to control the reaction, he simply watched with a mix of numbness and angst, wrapping his free hand around the cube to steady it and prevent spillage. The ripples didn't cease-- in fact, they only seemed to intensify. He choked out a noise that was somewhat reminiscent of a laugh and clutched the energon tightly in his servos, bringing it closer to his chest and the strange pain he felt there. 

“This is all my fault,” he croaked, feeling too weak and hating it. “I don't understand any of this. Why did he come back but only half way?”

“I can't say,” Wheeljack said gently, watching as the seeker’s left hand left his cube again and kneaded against his chestplate. His optics dimmed in sympathy as the flier's shaking worsened and he settled the fuel down on the coffee table beside the white mech’s half-empty cube. “But things are okay, I think. I think we caught everything in time and that’s what matters.”

Starscream was silent as he looked from the liquid, which settled into stillness, to the warm morning skies out the doors to the balcony. Even the sight of the sparse clouds in the welcoming sky couldn’t stir a good feeling within him through the gloom that possessed his spark and rattled his plating. Something felt like it was breaking within him-- shattering-- and he couldn’t bring himself to remove his servo from his chestplate as he was sure his spark began to crack under the weight of his misery. A strange sensation grabbed his attention suddenly, like a tickling across his eyes and cheeks, and he scrubbed at them with the back of a palm only for it to come back wet. He looked at the tear smeared across his servo blankly for a beat before it connected and suddenly the damn was broken, and more were coming.

“Oh, Star,” Wheeljack breathed, gathering the taller seeker up into his arms and holding him close to his chest. Starscream shoved his face into the scientist’s shoulder and made a horrible sobbing noise that was terribly unbecoming but he simply couldn’t find it in himself to care as his anguish left him in noisy bawls, “Don’t cry. It’ll be alright.”

The lord grinned something toothy and pained against the shorter mech’s neck, balling one fist against his own chestplate and the other against Wheeljack’s back. Softly, wretchedly, he wept, “I love him.”

The grounder pet in a soothing rhythm between the lord’s wings gently in an attempt to calm him, replying gently. “Of course ya’ do, he’s your conjunx endura.”

Starscream shook his head and hiccuped, pushing away and scrubbing at his face. He shoved himself to his pedes, pacing back and forth at the end of the coffee table, his wings held high and tight on his back in agitation. Wheeljack watched him patiently, nonjudgmentally, until finally the seeker stopped, and shook his arm at the door and the general direction of the medical center. “You don’t understand,” He insisted, “I  _ love him.” _

The lord moved to sit back down on the couch, feeling too much like he was working in circles, doing  _ nothing.  _ Suddenly he was explaining things to Wheeljack, coming  _ clean.  _ The words were spilling out of him like energon from a wound-- the way he’d met Swerve, the mistake in the lobby, the conspiracy, the plot to break things off that had simply never come to fruition. He told his amica, through tears that wouldn’t stop, about the kiss in the supply room and the real reason he’d panicked at the party, and he confessed about the feelings he’d been facing since just after that moment more than two weeks ago.

When he was done, Starscream looked to the scientist for something-- some sort of advice-- and Wheeljack looked blankly into the foreground as if computing things before softly uttering a simple and succinct, “ _ Oh, frag.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters seem to be getting shorter glklkjgh. ANYWAY. (poses dramatically) that ending tho. So this awful dramatic swerve arc ends next chapter, in "Visits". prepare yourself. Thank you all for reading. I love you. If you saw any errors, please point them out to me :> happy thursday!


	13. Visits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hit 100 kudos so you're getting a double post this week-- and this one's 5.6k!! :-3

Starscream’s wings twitched in anxiety as he stalked down the hallway, Wheeljack at his heels. The call had come a scant handful of minutes earlier, labelling Swerve fit for visitation, and the seeker had nearly exploded from his light doze at the news. A doctor stood outside the door, a big red mech with door wings and golden optics, cradling a clipboard and looking all the world like he was there to intercept a fight. The seeker stopped a few feet short of him, radiating preemptive offense. It didn't take long for the mech to snap to attention, his winglets canted in a respectful greeting.

“Emperor Starscream,” the doctor began in a soft voice, “My name’s Tourniquet. I’m here to speak to you about Swerve, and the condition we found him in.”

Starscream shifted his weight from one pede to the other, his annoyance giving way to the relief that washed through him knowing that he wasn’t going to be  _ kept _ from Swerve. He vented to steady himself and nodded. “How is he?”

“Doing much better,” the doctor began with a smile, optics darting from Starscream to his clipboard, then to Wheeljack. He hesitated for a moment before he seemed to come to a decision, and continued. “When he was found, he was suffering from self-inflicted neglect and a rust infection in his left arm caused by a badly treated war wound. We had to replace his arm, and check the rest of his frame for lingering rust or other infectants, and he’s just about optimal on that front.”

The seeker’s wings twitched in repressed agitation. “He was just in the hospital a few months ago, getting his other arm replaced. Why wasn’t the rust infection picked up on then?”

“We weren’t looking for it,” the medic explained, somewhat bashfully. “We’d scanned his frame from wounds inward, looking for other damage, and didn’t pick up any sign of the infection. Our current theory is the environment he was in mixed with his lack of fuel and proper recharge exacerbated the effects. He could have been fighting this infection off for centuries, but the circumstances sort of lined up and it took the chance to spread.”

Starscream sighed, nodding in understanding. His background in science was more in engineering than biology, but he could grasp the thinking behind the theory. “Can I see him, then?”

The doctor looked sort of hesitant, and immediately Starscream fought down his tired irritation. “There are still a few things that need to be discussed…” 

“I can handle those, probably,” Wheeljack said, stepping up beside the seeker more fully,“I’m Starscream's Amica, that's probably on file.  It ok if you an’ I finish up while he goes to see Swerve?”

Tourniquet's face screwed up in thought for a moment before he made a gesture for them to wait and then held a hand up to his audial, more than likely calling his superior for clearance. It took a few beats longer than Starscream really had the patience for, and he couldn't help but shoot the junior physician an annoyed look in between glances at the closed door to the minibot's room. Wheeljack set a placating hand on his arm just before the neutral mech turned back with a smile.  “It seems like we can make an exception this time around. I only ask that if he's sleeping, you try to let him rest, however excited to see him you may be.”

Starscream nodded and all but shoved past the doctor, equal parts eager and desperate to finally see the tiny grounder. With a wave of his palm the door opened. The differences between this room and his room from the bombing were startling, to say the least. This room had a window which let in soft afternoon light through gaps at the tops and bottoms of the curtains. The medical berth and the few monitors he was hooked up to were still pressed neatly into a corner, but the room had far more space and guest seating. Swerve’s stout frame was covered by a thin thermal tarp, lightweight and scratchy but warm, and instead of sleeping he was fiddling with something tiny between the forefinger and thumb of both hands. 

When the door opened he looked up, vaguely startled, with a visor that flickered from his lack of recharge and fuel. His mouth slowly formed a bashful smile as the seeker stepped further into the room. 

“Hey,” he offered succinctly. Starscream nodded, as if he had just agreed to the most correct and relatable sentiment ever stated. A heavy silence lingered between them for a short time; Swerve watched the seeker’s wings go up and down in his periphery and Starscream stared at whatever the minibot was playing with just so he wouldn't have to make eye contact. When the bartender finally became sick of the quiet, he broke it again, “So. This is pretty awkward.”

The flier couldn't help it. He  _ laughed _ . 

“Swerve,” he chuffed, “This is so many different things right now, I don't think awkward even places.”

The red-and-white’s expression changed, but it didn't grow anymore frown-like or smile-like, and he turned his face down towards his lap as he nodded. “I mean, granted.”

The seeker turned to pull a chair closer to the bedside, settling himself into it gingerly as he returned his attention to the minibot, who looked to be several different flavors of uncertain with a light dusting of hesitant. They stayed silent for a few moments longer as the shorter mech veritably wriggled in anxious discomfort with the situation, and Starscream did his best to settle into a chair not suited for wings his size.

Swerve seemed to finish his squirming, then shot a look at his visitor miserably. “So, um. Exactly how mad at me are you right now?”

The seeker startled, wings flicking on his back. “Mad at  _ you? _ ” he questioned, “Swerve. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at  _ myself _ , maybe, but not  _ you. _ Why would I be mad at you?”

“I… I’ve made a mess of everything? I--?” the minibot gestured at the room at large. “What  _ don't _ you have to be mad at me for?”

“I have nothing to be mad at you for.” the lord insisted. “I’m mad at  _ myself _ . I’m mad at myself for not realizing something was wrong. I don’t know why I thought things magically fixed themselves. I don’t have an excuse for not making sure you were alright, after how we met.” 

Swerve faltered, wringing his hands. “It’s not your fault,” he offered, “It’s not your responsibility.”

Starscream’s helm snapped up, an intense expression on his face. A pregnant silence passed between them before the flier broke it. “Swerve,” he began, “If you’re my friend, part of that relationship is making sure you’re alright. You would do it for me-- you  _ have  _ done it for me. You’ve taken care of me the whole time we’ve lived together. That means that on top of what I did to you at the party, on top of the horrible way I treated you, I’ve been neglectful of your needs.”

The minibot quashed the urge to reply by chewing on his lip. He watched as the lord stared at his hands, contemplating his words thoroughly for a few moments, before once more looking up in an attempt to catch the bartender's optics. He seemed hesitant, wringing his hands together nervously before gesturing vaguely.

“This… seems so wrong of me to say, to do to you after what I did at the party,” he began haltingly, wings lowering, “But when you were gone, I… I didn't like it. I couldn't handle it. I was a mess. The second time, I realised… I realised that I…” the seeker took a deep vent, optics flickering shut for a long moment. As he opened his mouth to continue, the door opened and Wheeljack entered, holding a clipboard and looking pleased, but distracted

“Well,” He began, unaware of what he had interrupted, “There's good news and slightly less good news.”

He looked up into the flustered face of his amica, and then to the confused looking bartender. Starscream rose from his chair, wings high on his back, and snatched the clipboard, holding it between both hands so tightly it flexed and threatened to snap. 

“Wheeljack,” he growled through grit dentae, “Haven't you ever heard of  _ knocking?” _

The scientist’s winglets sunk on his back and he let out a nervous laugh, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “Um, whoops?”

Starscream frowned, looking down at the clipboard. A vague outline of Swerve’s injuries were catalogued, and beside that a comprehensive care plan had been outlined for treating what issues lingered. The seeker studied it briefly, his frustration giving way to concern as he looked up at his amica. “Did the doctor say anything about when he’s going to be released?”

“Since the rest of his treatment is long term, as long as he feels up to it they said we could sign him out now.” Wheeljack said. On the berth, the minibot seemed to perk up at the news. He looked from the scientist to the seeker hopefully, meeting Starscream’s meaningful expression with a hesitant sort of half-smile. 

“Well?” The flier asked gently, “Do you think you’re well enough to leave?”

Swerve looked down toward where he played with his hands idly. He seemed to think on the question for a long few moments before he nodded, once more meeting the flier’s optics. 

“I’m not gonna pretend I feel one hundred percent, but I can rest at home, right?” the bartender plied, “All they've been doing is making me eat and sleep, which I mean-- I think I could definitely do that better at home.” 

“If I take you home are you actually going to  _ rest? _ ” Starscream asked, crossing his arms over his cockpit, “Or are you going to make dinner and do dishes again like you did after the explosion at Maccadams?”

“I’ll rest!” The minibot exclaimed, “I promise I will!”

Starscream’s expression of deep scrutiny lingered for a beat before morphing into something softer. He nodded, looking towards Wheeljack, who nodded himself and turned to figure out the proceedings of signing Swerve out of the medical center.

* * *

 

In the days that followed, as Swerve made good on his promise to rest and Starscream doted and fussed over him in a manner very specific to him, the knot that life had become seemed to untangle into something much more manageable. The minibot was quick to find his feet after a few days of fuel and rest, once again managing the efforts being made to restore the environ of Metroplex that was destroyed in the fire. Starscream worked primarily from home as he took care of his self-appointed charge, only really straying from Swerve's side once or twice to take a handful of calls he simply couldn't delegate to Windblade or Rattrap.  By the time a week had passed, when the emperor was all but ready to rivet the grounder into place on the couch to keep him from attempting to do chores or  _ help _ in some way or another, the bartender was finally cleared to resume regular function. The certification came just in time, it seemed, because as they shuffled into the lofty tower apartment together, Starscream shut off his comm link with a sigh, flopping onto the couch dramatically.

“So,” Swerve began, throwing the pouting seeker a half-smile as he perched himself on the edge of the coffee table for lack of anywhere else to sit, “I take it that didn't go so well?”

The flier huffed into the fabric of the seat cushion and turned his gaze toward the smaller mech, frankly unamused. “ _ Ugh _ .”

“Really?” The red-and-white prompted with a sarcastic raise of his optical ridges, “Tell me more. Please, enlighten me.”

Starscream grumbled, clearly lacking the energy to even call him on his playful jab. “That was  _ Optimus Prime _ ,” he huffed. “Apparently I  _ absolutely can not _ put off going to earth any longer or else he'll have a temper tantrum and go tattling on me to the Mistress of the Flame.”

“He wants you there  _ today?  _ Like,  _ now? _ ” Swerve asked, the rise of his optical ridges now completely genuine. 

“He said it can wait until tomorrow but,” the seeker puffed out his chest and screwed up his face and voice, attempting to imitate the prime, “ _ But  _ **_absolutely_ ** _ no later, do you understand me Starscream? Blah blah blah, your people deserve better, blah blah blah, leaders make personal sacrifices,”  _ and then, as the voice left him with a sigh and he buried his face in the pillow again, he continued wearily, “Yakkity yakkity, blah blah blah. That's all he ever does.”

The minibot couldn't help but snort at the voice, propping his chin up on his hands and his elbows on his knees. With a coy little grin, he said, “I can't believe Optimus Prime is a nagging housewife.”

“Really?” the taller mech asked, pushing himself up suddenly in a way that bowed his back as he turned his helm to regard the grounder, his face awash in a mix of relief and amusement, “Really, you  _ can't believe  _ that  _ Optimus Prime _ is a nagging housewi-- have you ever  _ met _ him?”

“He was in my bar for like twenty minutes once?” Swerve shrugged, “We never really had any one on one time. I’m-- I  _ was _ sorta obnoxious before we met, though, so I don't blame him for not really wanting to get involved with me.”

Starscream sobered, moving until he was sitting up on the couch, watching Swerve's face closely, their knees brushing lightly in the space between the sofa and the coffee table. Reaching forward, he gently took one of the minibot's hands in his, studying it silently for a moment before speaking up again, softly. “I can't speak for how you were before we met, but I’ve never known you in all the time we've been together to be anything close to obnoxious.”

“Ask Fizzle sometime, he can probably vouch for what I used to be like.” the bartender muttered dryly, straightening up with a shake of his head, “I mean, thank you! For the compliment!”

“Yes, well,” Starscream began, averting his gaze, “Do you think you feel well enough to go with me to earth?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” Swerve exclaimed as surprise washed over his face, then ebbed into uncertainty, “You… you still want me to go with you?”

“Naturally,” The seeker nodded, smiling softly at the shorter mech, “I did say it was a date, after all.”

* * *

 

The next day, after a few dreadfully boring hours dealing with the bureaucracy of leadership, Swerve and Starscream found themselves standing outside an old, rickety looking aircraft hanger at the foot of the appalachian mountains. The sun was crawling lazily toward the horizon, not quite sunset but getting close, and  there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Birds chirped, frogs croaked, and a cacophony of other tiny animals made their tiny animal noises all around them and off into the hinterlands. If anyone had asked Swerve, he would have called their surroundings peaceful-- which lead him to wonder why Starscream was so  _ tense. _

The seeker was planted a few yards from the door, only a step or two in front of Swerve with his wings hiked high on his back, all but quivering in his angst. The minibot could feel his companion’s field all but boiling with a murky anxiety and indecision, which only served to make his own dread more apparent. He wanted to say something, to reassure the taller mech that it would be alright, but before he could work up the words to do so, Starscream strode forward and rapped the metal door sharply. The sound echoed out into the forest, and as if in reverence of the act and what it meant, the wildlife around them quieted for just a moment.  From inside the bunker, Swerve could feel more than hear the pedesteps of someone else growing closer, and he shuffled nearer to Starscream nervously. The flier patted his cowl lightly when he was close enough, resting his hand there and offering the bartender a quick smile. Swerve returned it with something a bit more nervous, before the door opened and stole the emperor's attention away.

On the other side of the entryway stood a seeker that at first glance looked nearly identical to Starscream, but painted in a medium blue color. After a few good seconds of studying the stranger, Swerve was able to pick out the differences. The emperor's frame was sleeker now, more triangular and streamlined, whereas the blue seeker- and the black one that appeared behind him-- was more boxy and utilitarian. Swerve was snapped out of his thoughts as the blue mech surged forward and wrapped his arms around his trinemate, wings paralleling Starscream's in tension.  Before they could pull away, the third seeker draped his arms around both of them, though as far as the minibot could tell, he seemed much more relaxed than his brothers. A moment passed between them, where they simply embraced, before the two stepped back and smiled at Starscream.

“Thundercracker, Skywarp,” he began, his wings lowering just a little, “It’s so good to see you again.”

“It's about time,” The black seeker said with a grin, wiggling back and forth on his pedes as if suddenly filled with energy. Thundercracker and Starscream shot him a strange look, before the red seeker turned and set his hand back down on Swerve’s cowl, pulling the groups attention to him. The minibot fought the sudden urge to flee as two very hard expressions formed on the faces of the new fliers as they scrutinized him. 

“This is Swerve, my Conjunx Endura.” Starscream said-- but it did nothing to distract them from their thorough measuring-up of the grounder. After only a moment more, Thundercracker nodded, and stepped back. 

“Come on in,” He said, pushing the door a little further open in its track. The minibot tangled his fingers into Starscream's as they stepped forward across the threshold together.  While Thundercracker pulled the door closed, Skywarp continued to scrutinize Swerve for a few more seconds, then shrugged and glanced toward his red brother.

“Certainly didn't see this coming,” he said, smiling a devilish smile at the sleeker mech, “Didn't ever really expect you to go after anyone at all, much less a  _ minibot grounder.” _

“Skywarp!” Thundercracker snapped, looking absolutely scandalized, while Starscream simply rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don't  _ Skywarp!  _ me, TC, I know you're thinking it too!” the black seeker defended himself rather weakly. Thundercracker, wings high on his back, tromped forward and shoved a finger against the errant flier’s cockpit.

“It doesn't matter what I  _ think  _ as long as I have the  _ tact _ not to say it out loud!” the writer countered, loudly, before turning and looking first at his annoyed trinemate and then to the grounder who practically vibrated with barely restrained anxiety. “I’m sorry for him, he's--”

“Right!” Swerve all but barked, thousand-watt smile plastered over his face despite the jagged, angsty edge of his field. “He’s totally right! I mean, I said the same thing to Starscream, you know? I should definitely be more like you guys, I think, but being taller, prettier, more skilled, that's-- that's a tall order to fill and I come up a little short! Don't I know it. But I don't think It would be very smart for me to be anything but a grounder, 'cause-- well, ‘cause I’m sorta on a roll with it, you know, it's not exactly in my nature to just  _ wing  _ it, and I’m… gonna shut up now.”

By the time Swerve had finished his uncontrollable pun rant, all three seekers had turned to look at him with varying expressions on their faces. Starscream looked concerned, first and foremost, with perhaps a touch of bewilderment. Thundercracker looked absolutely  _ appalled,  _ but on the reverse side Skywarp looked suddenly thrilled _ ,  _ beaming excitedly at the minibot as if he'd invented him.  The red seeker lowered himself to be closer to eye level with his beau, rubbing small circles into the grounder's cowl with his thumb.

“Are you okay?” he asked, earning a prompt nod, before Skywarp spoke up again.

“Holy fraggin’ scrap, that was literally the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.” He wheezed. Swerve attempted to brighten his faltering smile, ignoring the way Thundercracker rubbed at the bridge his his nose in exasperation. “I take it back, you're  _ perfect _ !”

“Really, Star? You're dating a  _ Skywarp? _ ” Thundercracker groaned. Starscream shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at his blue-plated brother slyly.

“He makes me happy,” Starscream opined gently, a comment which stilled the various energies in the room for a moment. 

“Well, that's all that matters.” Thundercracker said, nodding gruffly and pivoting on a heel, “Lets sit. No point in standing around in the doorway all day.”

Skywarp bounced off after Thundercracker, his giddiness unperturbed by the sudden undercurrent of emotion around him. Starscream rose to his feet, hand everpresent against Swerve’s cowl as they followed the other seekers into a big room with two makeshift cybertronian sized couches placed around a shipping container that served as a coffee table. In the corner was a big, outdated holoconsole bank, and one whole wall was covered in televisions and monitors of all varieties and sizes. Skywarp immediately sprawled against the couch that faced away from the monitor wall as Thundercracker came up behind it.

“Do either of you want something to drink?” the blue jet asked, as Swerve and Starscream sat down beside one another on the couch opposite of Skywarp. The emperor nodded, which prompted Swerve to nod as well, and a few moments later Thundercracker passed out a cube of energon to everyone present. It didn't take long for them to descend into light chatter together, and though most of it was done between the seekers Swerve didn't really mind; it just meant he had less of a chance to make a fool out of himself. The tension in the room seemed to go lower and lower with each passing minute, and without his anxiety to occupy him the minibot was filled with a crushing sort of heartbreak.

He wanted this to be real with a sort of desperation he'd never truly felt before.

He stared into his drink dejectedly, but before he could fall into a depressed downward spiral he was torn from his thoughts by a high pitched jingling.

“What's that sound?” he asked without thinking, thankfully in a lull in the conversation.

“Oh, that's Buster,” Thundercracker said, seeming to brighten up enthusiastically, “She's my dog.”

“You have a dog?” Swerve asked stupidly, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the animal. Without warning, the blue seeker let out a piercing whistle, and the jingling intensified and drew closer until finally a small brown dog rounded the corner  of the couches, sniffing the air. The minibot couldn't help himself; he beamed. “That's so cool! I love dogs. Is it ok to pet her?”

With an enthusiastic affirmative from the writer, Swerve wasted no time in activating his holomatter avatar and stepping closer to where Buster was snuffling his pede. She turned, nose in the air, then immediately trod closer, sniffing at his sandals with great interest. Above them, the seekers fell back into casual conversation as the minibot pet and scritched the soft canine, who had decided immediately that she liked him. Without warning she jolted off around the corner again, tail wagging and ears flopping, and Swerve, curious, followed after her. By the time his avatar rounded the corner she was on the way back, a big tug rope held in her mouth as she bounced closer at high speed. Swerve, no stranger to dogs (at least in theory) was quick to oblige her play bows, and the two of them settled into a rhythm of playful yanking. For a moment the bartender was able to forget his worries and focus on something other than his innate fear of making mistakes. The night, it seemed, had suddenly taken a turn for the better. 

Together, he and Buster play-fought around the coffee table  several times, before suddenly she changed course and pulled him away from the couches and out into the rest of the room. She waited for him to tug good and hard, releasing her hold on the rope toy abruptly, sending Swerve's holomatter avatar sprawling on the cracked cement floor. He laughed as he sat up, rope toy in hand, and rubbed his helm gently. He tossed the thing to Buster, who caught it and ran around in a circle, tail wagging and tongue lolling, taking his time to stand up.

He didn't hear the footsteps approaching him, but by the time he got onto his knees, ready to stand, a human gun was suddenly in his face and Buster was tucked under the arm of a stranger, wiggling impatiently in an attempt to reach her fallen tug rope. 

“Alright, who wants to explain just what the  _ hell  _ is going on here?” the woman said glancing very briefly from Swerve's now  _ terrified  _ holoform up at the couch where Skywarp and Thundercracker sat, one amused and one mortified.

“Marissa, what the frag!” Thundercracker said, setting his energon down on the coffee table and standing up, “I  _ told you  _ I was gonna have company today! Put your damn gun away and-- for the love of Primus would you  _ stop _ manhandling my dog?!”

“ _ Two robots _ , Thundercracker, you said you were having  **_two robots_ ** over, not some weirdo in blue blockers and a Hawaiian shirt! It's like you don't even care about national security!” She howled, exasperation pouring from her frame in waves even without an EM field .

“That’s because I  _ don't!”  _ The blue seeker countered, causing the woman to sigh and deposited Buster back on the floor if only to free a hand to rub her temple with. Buster immediately ran forward and snatched the rope up again, trotting towards Swerve with a waggling tail as if nothing had disturbed her.

“God, why do I even bother?” She mumbled, lowering her gun and moving her free hand to the bridge of her nose in an unconscious parallel of Thundercracker’s earlier movement. After a moment she holstered the gun completely, made a defeated gesture that was almost reminiscent of a shrug, muttered a dismissal, then promptly turned on a heel and quit the room. Swerve, baffled, crouched down to pat his fluffy friend until he couldn't hear the officer’s footsteps anymore. When she was gone, the blue seeker sighed and directed an apologetic look toward the minibot.

“I'm sorry. Marissa is a little overbearing.” He offered quietly, which prompted a derisive snort from Skywarp.

“More like  _ a little bit of the worst.”   _ he opined. Thundercracker shot him a look, but after a second softened up.

“Well…  _ yeah _ , kind of.” he sighed, “All she does is complain or make fun of me.”

“Or that show you like,  _ Nurse What-ly _ ?” Skywarp mumbled.

“ _ Nurse Whitely _ ?” Swerve asked at the same time as Thundercracker corrected the purple seeker's pronunciation. The author turned to look at him again, somewhere between curious and frazzled, and the bartender smiled something big and enthusiastic. “I loved that show!”

“Thank you!” Thundercracker cried, elated at finally finding someone who shared his interest, “I keep telling her it was a classic, a commentary on other shows like it, but she doesn't believe me. She can't look past the characterization, she says.”

“That's nonsense! The characterization was integral to bring out the subtle satirical leaning in the writing!” Swerve agreed, nodding his helm. 

“Yes! Thank you! See, Sky, he gets it!” Thundercracker said, settling back down onto the couch and looking at his distinctly uninterested trinemate, who muttered something noncommittal. The blue seeker frowned, then looked back at the minibot with bright optics as Swerve’s holoform continued to play with Buster below them. “I’m trying to write something along the same lines, and I think considering Marissa could see the commonalities, I’ve been doing a good job-- but I’m worried I’m being a little heavy handed with the allusions.”

Swerve waffled for a moment before knotting up his fingers, “If you want, I could read what you have and tell you my thoughts?”

Thundercracker positively beamed, sitting up straighter, his wings wiggling in his excitement. “You'd do that?”

“Sure,” Swerve agreed, reaching over to take the datapad the blue seeker offered. He fell quiet as he read through the script, half-heartedly listening to the conversation that went on around him, his attention split between playing with Buster and reading what Thundercracker had written. A few minutes passed like that before he shut off the datapad and grinned.

“Well? What did you think?” The author asked, his field vibrating with nervous hope. Swerve handed back the datapad, then leaned back into the cushions.

“First of all, that has a lot of potential. If you get a good producer, this could be prime-time.” He began, causing Thundercracker to smile in a wide and honest sort of way. “I think you really nailed it. Everything's in place for this to be great. I don't feel like the allusions were too heavy handed, because even standing by itself without anything to draw on, this is a solid commentary on the industry.”

“You don't think it's too campy?” The seeker asked, holding the datapad up against his chest as if it were something precious. 

“No! Absolutely not. In this sort of writing, campiness is important. It's not too cheesy as to be impossible to view as anything but a satire but it's also just campy enough that the point really shines through. You have a really good sense of literary balance.”

Thundercracker looked stricken. “That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my writing.” He said quietly. Swerve smiled. 

“I think you might just have been showing this to the wrong people. Don't get me wrong, not everyone's gonna like it-- but not everyone liked Swift’s work either, and they hail him as practically required reading.” he said seriously.

The blue seeker paused for a moment, working his jaw, then said,  “Would it be weird if I asked for your comm frequency so I can get your opinion on some other stuff later, too?” 

“Not at all! I’d be honored!” Swerve replied enthusiastically.

And so it went.

* * *

 

The hours passed until the sun burned low in the sky outside, casting the hangar in a warm orange glow. Starscream made their excuses, and together the four mechs travelled to the door. 

“So, your-great-and-terrible-honors,” Starscream began with a coy smile, “Give me the consensus on my wonderful Conjunx.”

Immediately, Skywarp grinned, “He's great. Hold on to him with both hands, dude.”

Thundercracker nodded his assent, smiling a much calmer version of Skywarp’s grin. “He has good taste, in both writing and in love interests. If he takes care of you, I don't think I could find anyone I’d rather you be with.”

Starscream smiled, first at his trinemates and then down at Swerve, who was suitably nervous rather than just extremely nervous. “I think I agree with you.” he said.

Thundercracker and Skywarp both looked down at the minibot, intense expressions on their handsome faces. Swerve looked back at them with an anxious smile and knotted hands.

“Are you gonna treat Starscream right?” Skywarp asked, all menace and intimidation, “If we find out you're just in it for the fame…”

“No!” Swerve blurted, panic creeping up on him, raising his hands in a placating gesture, “I-I mean, yes! I mean-- I promise I'll be good to him!”

“Good.” the black seeker opined, “Because if we find out you break his trust? If we find out you hurt him? You won't like us. We'll hunt you down.”

Thundercracker elbowed his errant trinemate sharply. “What Skywarp  _ means _ is you have our blessing-- as long as you promise you're not just playing.”

“I’m not,” he offered in an attempt to assure them. Thundercracker nodded, and then after a moment Skywarp did, too. Starscream, having taken in the whole exchange silently, huffed in exasperation.

“Honestly, you two.” The Lord said, shaking his helm. They looked back at him with a comically similar sort of indignance, but then all three of them broke out into fond smiles. A comfortable silence passed between them.

“So. We'll see you at the ceremony, won't we?” Starscream said, earning two separate nods, “Good. It wouldn't be the same without you there.”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.” Thundercracker said gently. Skywarp nodded his agreement. The emperor leaned forward and embraced one trinemate, than the other.

“It will be too long to wait to see you both again.” He said, overcome with emotion, before hugging them both again.

A few more heartfelt goodbyes were exchanged, and then with a quick comm Starscream and Swerve were headed back through the space bridge. Their departure from the bridge center on Cybertron was rather quick as well. It wasn't until they were halfway back to Starscream’s tower that the seeker broke the silence between them, a smile on his handsome face. 

“For someone who insists on calling himself stupid, you sure sounded smart back there, talking with Thundercracker about his writing.” He offered matter-of-factly, causing the minibot to fluster.

“Just cause I know a handful of big words doesn't mean I’m not dumb,” He demurred, his ever-present internal misery only ratcheting higher, “I didn't even sound that smart.”

“I thought you sounded wonderfully knowledgeable.” Starscream assured. The bartender smiled at him if only to try and discourage the seeker from worrying; he didn't feel smart.

Looking at the metaphorical hole he had dug himself into, he didn't feel smart at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so two things: if you're not aware, Swerve's whole vanishing stint was a sort of callback to the issue of mtmte, "The One Where They Go To Earth"-- but since he's on cybertron and not the lost light, i moved things around a bit. Hopefully i got the timing... okay enough. 
> 
> Also, part of swerve's care plan was seeing a psychiatrist once a week which he sticks to but i forgot to put it in and then couldn't figure out how to actually put it in without breaking the flow and making things awkward. So he's getting help, rest assured.
> 
> (blows a noisemaker) 100 KUDOS!! 100 KUDOS!! i can die happy now thank you all so much i love you djhfkg
> 
> p.s. starscream and swerve had a really dumb date in new york city, they ate pizza and went sightseeing and it was good and gay and im very upset that i couldn't figure out how to work it in. I rewrote this chapter nine damn times trying to get it to work.


	14. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a conclusion, old rivalries are resolved, and problems are finally faced.

Starscream sat in his office, going over a set of crime rate reports from the guard corps. The sun shone brightly in the sky and cast its afternoon rays through the thick glass of his windows, lighting the room in warm colors. The day seemed to be going his way; the majority of the datapads on his desk were in the outbox, none of the other council members were angry with him, and it was nearly time for lunch. So absorbed was he in his reading, he didn’t notice Wheeljack standing in the doorway, hip cocked, until the scientist knocked on the frame. 

“Hey Star,” the grounder greeted, slipping into the room and seating himself in one of the chairs opposite of the seeker’s desk. Starscream set down the datapad he was holding and smiled at his amica.

“Wheeljack,” He hummed, smiling, “Something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, actually,” Wheeljack nodded, crossing one leg over the other, “Ya can tell me how it went.”

Starscream looked suddenly confused. “It?”

“Ya’ know… tellin’ Swerve the truth?” the white mech prompted in a suspicious tone. The seeker looked at him the way a rabbit looks at a hunting dog, drawing a sigh from the shorter mech. “Lemme guess. Ya’ didn’t tell him yet.”

Starscream was speechless a moment, slowly trailing into a weak excuse, “W-we were busy…”

“Starscream of Vos. Ya’ mean ta’ tell me that in all the time that Swerve’s been home with ya, in all the time ya’  _ knew  _ how ya’ felt, you haven’t taken the fifteen nanokliks to say, ‘hey, I might be a little bit in love with you’?”

“Fif-- It’s not that simple! It’s not that easy!” the seeker cried defensively, “You don’t understand--!”

Wheeljack pushed himself up out of his chair and rounded the desk, jabbing a finger at his amica, “Oh, I understand  _ just fine. _ You’re scared!”

Starscream stood up as well, wrapping a hand around the white mech’s hand as if it were holding a gun and he needed to point it away from himself, unable to find the anger that a comment like that would have usually inspired in him. Instead all he felt was desperation. “You  _ don’t  _ understand. I’m not  _ afraid  _ of telling Swerve what I feel.”

“Then what is it?” Wheeljack prodded. “Why are you wasting time sitting around here instead of telling him what he means to you?”

Starscream sat back down in his chair, turning to look out the window. Wheeljack could have sworn it was for dramatic effect, but he doubted even the seeker could have predicted the way he would be silhouetted in the glow of the sky. After a long moment, he sighed. “I’m ashamed.”

Wheeljack balked. “ _ Ashamed? _ Star, if there is anyone in the world who won't hold what happened against you, I guarantee it’s Swerve.”

“But do I  _ deserve  _ forgiveness?” Starscream asked, turning back around to look at his amica with desperate optics. 

“The only one who can answer that is him. Ya wanna know? Ya gotta ask.” The scientist said seriously. Starscream looked at him with uncertainty, and then nodded. He rose once more, shuffled around the objects on his desk, and with Wheeljack in tow headed out of his office towards the lifts.

* * *

 

With the help of the experts from Caminus, Metroplex had made great leaps in healing from the fire. In little over a month, the cityformer had already regenerated the walls and ceiling of the bar. Swerve had spent the majority of the day moving in new furniture, unpacking new glassware and taking inventory, all courtesy of Swindle. The radio in the corner played music softly, giving the empty bar a homey atmosphere anyway. The minibot stood on a ladder, doing his best to hang up a new sign over the entryway to the back storerooms. Suddenly the front door opened with a steely clatter of bells, and he pivoted, startled, to see who had just entered. Standing a few feet inside the door, Blurr was peering around with a particular look of wonder on his faceplates, something common to see coming from anyone who saw the vast improvement Metroplex had made in restoring his environ. He whistled.

“Sure is pretty in here,” he opined, meandering closer to Swerve. “Is all of Metroplex this shiny underneath, or is there just something special about you?”

Swerve laughed. “No-- I mean, he's probably shiny when he's clean, yeah, but I got some special polish from the Camiens that I’ve been using on whatever I can reach. Doin’ my best to help the big guy get better, you know?”

Blurr hummed an acknowledgement as he drew to a stop beside the ladder Swerve was perched on. “So, you're probably wondering why I’m here.”

The minibot, finally managing to line the sign up the right way, nodded. 

“Well, I wanted to talk to you a little. So this whole…  _ arson _ thing started because Swindle got upset that  _ I  _ was upset.” The racer began, prompting a nod from the red-and-white, “I was upset because, since your bar opened, my business started going down the drain. I will admit, it really pissed me off. That's sort of what I’m here about. I wanted to know if you felt like obliging me,” he trailed off, looking at something super interesting on the far wall as the shorter bartender made his way down the ladder. “I wanna do a  _ thing.  _ The only thing I can think is that your drinks have got to be better or something, so I want to… have a taste test. Maybe, you could call it a drink-mixing competition.”

Slowly, after weighing his options, Swerve nodded. “Ok. What are the rules?”

Blurr beamed over his challenge being accepted, and started over towards the bar. “It's pretty simple. We agree on a drink to make, and we both make our own versions of it, then we both taste both our own and each other's mix. Sound fair?” 

The minibot strolled closer to the bar, which Blurr was already behind and leaning against confidently as if he owned the place. He nodded, again. “What if we can't decide who’s is better?”

The racer hummed thoughtfully for a moment, drumming his knuckles on the countertop, then snapped his fingers, clapped, and pointed at his rival. “We pull in some volunteers and do a double blind taste test.”

The shorter mech nodded after a moment again. “Yeah, alright. Sounds fair. What drink do you wanna make? I'll make  _ whatever _ so just… pick your favorite or something.”

Once more, the blue mech drummed his fingers on the countertop, and turned, regarding the impressive collection of engexes stocked behind him as Swerve made his way behind the bar as well. His optics danced over the many labels and bottles before he turned his helm and smiled. “Can you make a  _ Two Moons Over Cybertron?”  _

Swerve grinned. “Pfft, practically in my recharge.” He said playfully. While Blurr pulled the bottles down off the wall, the minibot moved back and forth to collect the materials they would need, placing various containers and equipment down on the workspace. The taller mech gazed over everything, but paused. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Blurr prompted, looking down at the smaller grounder with a stone-faced sort of disbelief. Swerve glanced across the lineup, then shook his head slowly.

“No? What else do  _ you  _ put into a  _ Two Moons _ ?”

“Bismuth?”

Swerve deadpanned, opened his mouth to retort, then shut it again, paused for a moment, and finally spoke. “You put  _ bismuth  _ in your  _ Two Moons Over Cybertron _ ?”

Blurr nodded defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve drunk enough fragging  _ Two Moons  _ to know that there is Bismuth in that mix.” He said seriously. Swerve's face twisted up. 

“Are you sure you haven't just been drinking out of a dirty cup every time?”  He asked hesitantly. Blurr frowned vehemently at him, causing Swerve to startle into action collecting the little tray of powdered bismuth and setting it down by the racer's elbow. “Fine, fine, ok. Here you go, Bismuth.”

“ _ Thank you,”  _ Blurr huffed, causing it to sound more like  _ 'about time’.  _ Swerve grinned at him, and without wasting any time began to prepare his mix. Working around another bartender in a bar designed for one person was a bit awkward, and Swerve had to stop several times in order to reach in front of Blurr and grab something. Without much fanfare, he finished shaking the mix up and split it between two glasses, garnished them, then slid them up onto the counter where a customer would ordinarily set. Blurr, who had watched rather patiently, shooed the minibot out from behind the bar and arranged each ingredient precariously in front of him before beginning to mix his own version of the drink. 

Swerve had seen Blurr mix before, right after Shockwave had been defeated, but never before had he seen it from the point of view of a customer. There was a lot of juggling, bottles spinning and twirling as they dumped contents into the shaker in a riveting performance of dexterity. Blurr threw the shaker into the air once, spun in a tight circle, and caught it, before dumping it into two glasses and garnishing it, placing both drinks besides Swerve's. He grinned and rounded the bar, all afluster with giddiness, and plopped himself onto a barstool right beside his tiny adversary.

“Who’s is first?” He asked, watching Swerve pick up the drink the blue mech had mixed and eye it critically. The minibot shrugged.

“Yours first, since it's in my hand.” He said. Blurr snorted, picked up the tealish mixture, and gently clinked the glass against the one Swerve held. Without a real reason for toasting, they both turned and  took a drink of their individual cocktails; Swerve took a sip, and Blurr took a gulp. The racer let out a hiss, setting the glass roughly down on the bartop, watching as Swerve swirled his drink around, observing its surface closely. After another few moments, he took another sip, but then set it down besides his own untouched glass.

“Well?”  Blurr prompted. “What do you think?”

“Ok. Uh.” Swerve said, bracing his hands on the counter, and turning slowly to regard the racer, “Do you want, like, my real opinion, my real  _ professional opinion  _ or do you just want me to say yours is better?”

“I want your opinion!” Blurr demanded, frowning. Swerve gnawed on his lip for a moment.

“Ok. Uh.” he said again. “Well, it was… not super great, honestly. Your engexes aren't mixed together, it's got a little too much lithium nitride, and the bismuth throws the flavor off entirely. But! The bismuth  _ does _ add a cool starry effect to it! So, I mean, it's not all bad!”

Blurr’s frown deepened, and Swerve rushed to placate him but all that came out was half flustered, half panicked noise. Blurr shook his head. “It's fine! Let's just try yours.”

Swerve, feeling guilty, nodded and picked up the glass with his own mix. Blurr took a gulp of it just like before, but made a face as he swallowed. Swerve watched him from behind his glass with interest and he immediately took another sip.

“Oh.” He said softly.

“Oh?” the minibot prompted. Blurr’s face became more concerned, more  _ confused _ .

“It didn't burn?” he said, “Isn't it supposed to burn?”

“No.” Swerve said with a distinct air of surety. 

“And it's so dark…” Blurr continued. “I thought it was supposed to be more… like mine?”

“No, a  _ Two Moons _ is supposed to be dark as the night sky. That's the whole gimmick. The drink is the sky and the two silver wafers you float on top are the moons.”

Blurr, looking startled, looked back at his own mix quietly, then uttered a soft, “Oh.” Then after a moment, he leaned forward to bury his face in his hands. “What have I been  _ serving people? _ ”

“Very strong cocktails?” Swerve tried. Blurr snorted again.

“Yours is so smooth compared to mine! I'm probably doing everything wrong…” the racer lamented. Swerve, hesitant, patted him on the pauldron.

“Don’t be sad. If it was so terrible, nobody would have come in the first place.” He soothed. “Besides, it's easy to learn when you know the right way to do it.”

“Will you teach me?” Blurr asked suddenly as he sunk further into his arms, “I thought I could just do it. I've watched so many drinks be made, I spent so much time in bars back before the war, I thought it made me an expert. And nobody ever complained about my drinks. I must have exactly no clue what I’m doing.”

“Hey, of course I’ll help. What are friends for?” the minibot said, patting Blurr again. The racer smiled at him from his arm nest.

“You're too nice, Swerve.” he said. He paused for a moment, looked away, then looked back. “I remember calling you annoying when we first met. I’m sorry for that. I was wrong. You're a really cool mech.”

It would take Swerve a few minutes to compose himself.

* * *

 

Swerve came home to find Starscream waiting for him. The doors to the lift creaked open, and within a few moments he could tell that something was wrong. Starscream, who had known he was coming from the time the doors began to squeal, looked at him with an expression somewhere between  _ predator  _ and  _ prey,  _ and as the minibot stepped further into the room, the taller mech stood up and took a hesitant step forward. For several pregnant moments nothing was said.

“Um, is everything okay?” the bartender asked, prompting Starscream to look away briefly before nodding. Swerve took a few more slow steps toward the seeker, just barely catching sight of the little round scorch marks marring the floor in front of the couch like coffee rings on a document. After a moment, it clicked that they were from Starscream's thrusters lighting against the floor, a high-stress reaction that Swerve had only actually seen happen once before in the time he’d been living with the emperor. As he approached, Starscream all but collapsed back down onto the couch, his elbows on his thighs and his hands scrubbing at his face.  The minibot climbed up onto the couch beside him, not too close but still within arm’s reach. Another long beat of silence passed before he offered Starscream a worried expression. “Did I… do something wrong?”

The seeker’s head snapped up, and for the briefest of moments he looked utterly horrified, but it was quickly schooled into the previous miserable expression as he spoke. “No, no, Primus, Swerve! You've done nothing wrong. I promise. I just need to talk to you, but I… I need a few more minutes to compose myself.”

The minibot nodded slowly, filled with a creeping sort of trepidation, and remained silent as Starscream stood and began to pace, slow and meandering. Several times, the taller mech stopped, stared at whatever was in front of him, turned towards the minibot with an open mouth as if ready to speak, but then snapped his jaw shut and resumed pacing quietly with his wings high up on his back.

“You're sure nothing's wrong? Nobody's hurt?” Swerve prompted, and Starscream shook his head. 

“No? Yes? Yes and no.” he said, waffling uncharacteristically. He stood at the door to the balcony for a moment, staring out into the orange-pink sky of dusk. He turned.

“Swerve, I treated you _horribly._ ” The seeker began, not pulling any punches, “What I did to you at the party was wrong. I had to put up with that sort of thing from Megatron and I am… _beyond_ _disgusted_ with myself for hurting you like that.”

“Starscream,” the minibot began, “It's water under the bridge. I'm not mad. I’m not even upset.”

“If you're truly not, then you  _ should be.”  _ the seeker urged, curling his arms around himself in a loose embrace, “I  _ degraded you _ . I  _ humiliated you,  _ not even just between us but  _ in a crowd. _ That should  _ never happen.  _ That should  **_never happen,_ ** Swerve.”

“When you left, I… was immediately struck by how big of a hole you filled. I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen to you, what you would do. If you would be alright. All I wanted to do was go back and fix it, stop myself from hurting you like that. I can't, though, and wishing I could isn't going to make things right.”

Starscream crossed the small space between them and sat down next to the minibot, closer than before. “Wheeljack came and took care of me when you disappeared the second time. I was beside myself. I told him the truth, because I couldn't bear to be the only one who knew what was really going on, and I… I realized something.”

Swerve watched him studiously as he stared at his servos, the floor, the blank vid-screen, out the window again, then back at his hands. He turned his helm and looked Swerve in the face.

“I am in love with you.” He said, reaching for one of the minibot's big hands, “Not pretend. Not for show. I am truly in love with you, Swerve. I want to be your Conjunx Endura for  _ real.  _ I understand if you're uninterested, but you have a right to know the truth.”

Swerves reaction was strange; he stared blankly at Starscream for a few moments, his visor growing increasingly brighter and paler. He slipped his hand away from the seeker’s and for the briefest moment Starscream assumed the worst, but both hands just went to his own face. 

“I’m sorry,” Swerve said quietly, “I’m sorry. I really don't know what to say.”

Starscream huffed a wry laugh, “Hopefully you'll say  _ yes,”  _ he said in good humor, though on the inside he was already trying to calculate how badly it would hurt when Swerve inevitably told him no.

“ _ Yes!  _ I mean,  _ absolutely,”  _ Swerve said quickly, reaching for Starscream's hands. Their fingers locked, and as Swerve's visor began to spark from his tears, he grinned something wobbly but soulfelt. “This  is just scary. Nobody's ever liked me before.”

The seeker smiled at him softly, leaning closer. “It’s my understanding that the vast majority of our population is entirely too stupid for their own good, so don't feel too badly.” He said, kissing the minibot’s cheek gingerly. Swerve, overcome, rushed forward in a torrent of emotion and pressed his lips against the emperor's; Starscream was too startled to react before the minibot began to pull away, but was quick to chase Swerve's lips as he retreated. They shared a few gentle kisses, the grounder's arms wrapped around the flier’s neck, and Starscream set his forehelm against Swerve's to simply watch the emotions cross his faceplates.

After a moment Swerve's expression grew more elated and wobbly, prompting Starscream to grin as well as the minibot broke the comfortable silence between them. “I’d say I’m afraid this is a dream, but my dreams are never this good,” he muttered good-naturedly, and Starscream couldn't help but laugh and pull the minibot into an embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is, the last actual chapter. All that's left is the epilogue. :'3 my baby's all grown up. Thank you for reading!! See you next week!


	15. Epilogue: Circulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short and bad and I'm sorry but just, take it i guess lmao

Swerve was  _ nervous _ .

Even at first glance, it was apparent. He stood still, servos knitted together tightly and thumbs rolling, as Blurr circled him with a critical optic, polishing cloth in hand. As the blue mech came around his front, he frowned and pulled Swerve's hands apart.

“You're worried.” He opined. Swerve, filled with a dread so potent he couldn't quite recall ever being so scared, nodded, face miserable. Blurr gave him a soft smile. “Don't be. You're gonna do great, mech.”

“What if he changes his mind?” the minibot fretted as the racer buffed the new scratches out of his big red servos. “What if he realizes I’m not worth it? What if I make a fool out of myself?”

Blurr listened to him vent his anxiety with an uncharacteristic amount of patience. “You won't. He won't. Take a deep breath, before you start panicking.”

Swerve nodded, doing his best to breathe evenly. He could hear the din of the small gathering on the other side of the privacy screen that had been set up, all the guests chattering among themselves as Blurr finished touching up the buffing he'd given the minibot earlier that day. He looked back up at the taller mech and did his best not to bite his lip.

“What if he drops me?” He asked. Blurr smiled at him again.

“I think Starscream is probably the last mech that would drop you.” He assured. The red mech nodded slowly as the racer peered around the edge of the screen. He made some gestured to someone Swerve couldn’t see, then turned around looking serious. “It’s just about time. I’d ask if you’re ready, but…”

Swerve snorted wryly, pulled a face and then drug in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, then nodded. “Let’s do this.” He mumbled. Blurr nodded back and stood behind him as the minibot worked his way around the privacy screen, coming to rest in the middle of the aisle between his screen and Starscream’s. The guests snapped to attention as they caught sight of him, all but diving into a single group to one side of the rooftop, watching expectantly as Swerve stood by himself, glowing in the light of the setting sun. It was only a moment longer before Starscream, tall and radiant, stepped out from behind his own divider.

For a moment, as the seeker approached with gliding steps, Swerve was  _ speechless.  _ The emperor was a vision, cloaked in the orange-gold rays of dusk, buffed and shined within an inch of his life.  Swerve looked up to his face just in time to catch the flier smile, soft and genuine and loving, and he thought he might just explode right there before they even made it to the dais.  He gave the least wobbly smile he could manage back, just as Starscream drew to a stop in front of him. As Blurr slipped back into the crowd beside Swindle and Wheeljack meshed into it on the other side, the minibot pulled himself together and offered his hands to his conjunx to be. 

“You look great,” He said, though in his anxiety it came out more of a whisper. Starscream’s smile widened a bit as he took the minibot’s big red servos.

“You do, too.” He hummed. “Are you ready?”

“No,” Swerve said immediately, looking just about everywhere except the taller mech’s face for a moment. He laughed nervously. “But if it were up to me being ready I don’t think this would ever happen so I think it’s better that we just keep going, you know?”

The seeker nodded, looking concerned, “ I understand. I don’t want you to worry, though. Everything will go perfectly.”

“I’ll try,” Swerve promised.  Starscream smiled at him again, and hand in hand they turned and skirted the edge of the assembly and stepped up together onto the dais, the minibot balanced on the smaller square pedestal meant to get him to roughly equal height of Starscream. The seeker turned toward the crowd, smiling an easy smile. 

“Thank you, all of you, for coming out today.” He began, looking across the congregation. “This is a momentous occasion for me. For both of us. You would think, for all the time I have wanted this, I would be prepared. I thought I  _ was _ . But I am not. I have no speech prepared, nothing grand and inspiring to say about this moment. I fail to grasp the words necessary to express my elation, even, but I suppose we’ll have to make due.”

He turned, presenting first his left hand, palm up, which Swerve covered with his right servo. Starscream ran his thumb over the edge of Swerve's hand comfortingly as Swerve present his own left hand, palm up, the same way the seeker had, and Starscream covered that with his right hand. He could feel the minibot’s hands trembling, could see the beginning of tears forming in his optics. He smiled something reassuring at the smaller mech, who smiled a tremulous smile back, then  looked back at the crowd.

“We stand before you today not simply as two individuals joined through a mutual affection, but as two halves of a whole seeking to be reunited. We embarked on this journey together, aware of the dangers that would imperil us and knowingly forging ahead. The path we have walked has been eventful, fraught with obstacles both of our own design and at the behest if others, but we have surmounted each and every challenge placed before us. Along the way, three very important things occurred, each of those a step in a grand rite of passage we have shared between us.” The seeker said, turning back to look at the bartender fondly. “The first was profferance, a gift given freely as a token of love. Next was disclosure-- information once held close now given in confidence as a sign of trust. The third was intimacy, an affection shared and returned in earnest. And now we stand here, preparing for the final rite."

Slowly, he twisted once more to face the crowd, servos still holding Swerve’s with a firm gentleness that he could only hope was reassuring. 

"Devotion- an act if loyalty and faith from one to another. We are honored to have you, each and every one, witness as our courting comes, finally, to fruition."

The minibot’s anxiety peaked as Starscream pulled his hands closer, kissing both of them slowly, before pulling away. He knew what he had to do, but looking down at the ground from so high filled him with a primal terror, and he balked as Starscream gently pushed off from the edge of the tower, the thrum of his thrusters the only sound. Hesitantly, he stepped forward casting a wary glance to the seeker, who smiled serenely at him.

“Don't worry,” he said, “I will catch you.”

Swerve nodded, swallowed hard, and steeled himself briefly before leaning forward sharply and tipping over the edge of the building. Immediately his hearing seemed to vanish behind the rush of atmosphere around him, so loud it nearly drown out the roar of energon in his audials. Panic choked him as the ground approached rapidly, stealing the scream that welled up in his vocalizer before he could loose it, and he shut his optics in staunch denial of what he was seeing. His fall felt like it lasted forever, an agonizingly slow thing, and just when he was sure that he was about to shatter the sidewalk below him, just as doubt began to seep into his mind, he was scooped gently into the arms of the emperor.  It was far from the jarring impact he was expecting, and he latched himself on to the taller mech’s plating in desperation, silently pleading that the seeker not drop him.

His velocity changed swiftly, and he felt them rising back up, twisting in a showy spiral. Only a moment passed before cheers rang out, and Swerve blinked his optics open, feeling strangely disoriented. They were back, level with the roof once more, and Starscream carried him over to his starting place, touching down smoothly.

The minibot turned his helm from the crowd to the seeker, who had been watching his face the whole time, it seemed. Something passed between them, a mutual look of some unknown feeling between surprise and relief with heavily loving overtones, and then Starscream ducked his helm and pressed his lips to Swerve's. The cheering ascended to a roar as the emperor set his conjunx on his feet and steadied him before turning towards their guests, hand in hand. The crowd rushed up to meet them and offer their heartfelt congratulations, one at a time in a strangely organized way despite being a small mob. Thundercracker and Skywarp sidled up to them eventually, the blue mech smiling brightly as he clapped his trinemate on the shoulder.

“So!” he began, “When do I get to write the movie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that's it. It's over. If you read this far, thank you so much. Thank you all so, so much for reading and commenting. It means more to me than you'll ever know. 
> 
> If you liked this fic, share it with your friends maybe? (*is immediately taken behind the shed and pounded for being a self-promoting loser*)
> 
> But no, really. Thank you all for reading and I'm sorry for the terrible epilogue. :'D I'm trying to get better at endings.
> 
> Also, if you want, you can follow me on Twitter at @moosekababs or on tumblr at robot-sin-disk-eyes.tumblr.com. I'm always up for talking and I post snippets of upcoming fics on my twitter all the time. (you can also if you want, bug me for the extras i have laying around for this story-- deleted scenes, the outline ((which i think is hilarious because i think i'm a funny guy)) and the original couple chapters how i first wrote them. Hmu on twitter or tumblr if you're interested and I will provide links. )
> 
> but anyway. I love you all. Thank you. Your kind words mean the world to me. Happy thursday. I hope the world treats you all well and you find money on the ground and get to take a nap in the sun and pet a cute animal. 
> 
> \-- moose


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